The Arrancar Wars, Volume One: Let There Be War
by Chaos Dragon
Summary: Everyone thought that the Winter War of Ichigo’s youth was the end of all things. No one could have guessed that they would rise again six years later with Aizen still at the helm. Eventual multi-pairing.
1. Chapter 1

**The Arrancar Wars**

** Volume One: Let There Be War**

**Chapter One**

Chemistry was normally one of the most interesting subjects in Ichigo's class load. The necessity for it in his future medical career aside, the potential for disaster from a few of his lab mates was too intriguing for him to not pay attention. Especially since he had no desire to throw off his average and lower his excellent academic standings. He'd been in the top five percent since he began medical school, and he aimed to finish it out in the same fine form—blowing his GPA halfway through was not in the plan.

Unfortunately, his attention couldn't be bartered this fine morning when a hell butterfly was winging its way to him after having emerged through the dry erase board his professor was currently scrawling their latest chemical formulae on, conveniently missing the bright red marker with a sudden dart of its translucent wings before aiming unerringly for him.

Had Kurosaki Ichigo been any less of a shinigami his eyes would have been darting all over the place for fear of a sensitive classmate seeing. Luckily Ichigo already knew (thanks to Rukia's prodding at the beginning of every semester, which translates to showing up in shinigami form to harass him through an entire day of classes) that none of the students in his chemistry lab were sensitive.

No. They were all about as psychically dense as a rock.

Thank god.

The fact that the creature was headed straight for him didn't bother Ichigo in the least. He'd long since grown accustomed to having the things pop up when least expected and most undesired, but it was a necessity and a fact of life for him. After the Winter War had ended Soul Society and Seireitei seemed intent on keeping him close. Ichigo had no arguments; it meant that he was able to continue his shinigami activities and see Rukia regularly.

However, it also meant that he had demented undead butterflies flitting into his chemistry lab a few minutes into lecture to land on his desk in front of him. This made one of his vivid orange eyebrows arch suspiciously. Unusual behavior, which meant abnormal, which always, _always_, meant that something was wrong and Ichigo had to go to Seireitei.

The habitual scowl on Ichigo's face deepened. Aside from the fact that the messengers never landed in his classes, but merely flitted, this hell butterfly was beginning to take on a distinctly misty shape. Within the mist Ichigo was sure that he could see the outlines of a scroll, one of the high security scrolls no less, taking shape where the butterfly had been fairly solid appearing moments before. His fingers itched to lay down his pen and notebook and snatch it up to learn what he could. The scroll surely had to do with the suspected Arrancar incursions on the edges of Soul Society.

"Kurosaki-san, is my class so boring that you refuse to pay attention?"

Ichigo's head whipped around to face the diminutive professor who was standing at his lab table attempting to peer over his shoulder. The sad thing was that even sitting, Ichigo was still tall enough to manage to keep Professor Kensei from seeing exactly what had his attention. Not that the professor could, the man was about as sensitive as a rock. The first time he'd said that Rukia had hit him upside the head and told him to quit insulting the rock. The mental image was nearly enough to make him lose his infamous composure, she'd looked so ridiculous defending the honor of an imaginary rock.

Ichigo pulled himself away from the thought to send an unkind glare at his teacher. "No." Short, succinct. Distinctly annoyed on top of that. Surely the man would leave him alone and let him get back to trying to discretely unroll the scroll that had finally finished materializing on his notebook, the hell butterfly completely gone now but for a few faint smudges of tiny black feathers across the creamy rolled velum.

Professor Kensei narrowed his eyes but didn't step back even as Ichigo frowned at him. Unmoved by Ichigo's imposing expression, the professor reached across the lap table to pick up Ichigo's notebook and peer at it. His hand and the notebook slipped through the scroll leaving Ichigo staring at it. Even his reputation was in danger of a back slip as he glanced up at his professor. It never failed to amaze Ichigo that average humans had no idea there was a whole other world out there that they couldn't touch. These moments only made it that much more real for him, even more so than the fact that he spent a great deal of his nights prowling his hometown in search of other worldly soul-eating creatures.

The professor hmm'd for a moment over his notes, but Ichigo contented himself with a scowl and a faint drumming of fingers. It wasn't like he didn't already have the highest average in the class. Not paying attention for thirty seconds was hardly going to ruin it. But Kensei Megamura reminded Ichigo forcibly of Kurotsuchi Mayuri: an egomaniac as well as megalomaniac, intent on being the center of focus. Where as the insane taichou had constantly tried to better himself than his predecessor, the chemistry professor was apparently still smarting over his declined application for appointment to head of the science department.

Ichigo could hardly fault them, the man was a toady. No, just a toad. He'd had the gall to ogle at Rukia the one time she'd come by in her gigai to snag Ichigo after class. An evening out with Ishida and Orihime and Tatsuki. No, Ichigo hadn't liked his chemistry professor at all after that.

"Well, your notes do seem to be in order." Ichigo's notebook was returned to him, and the scowl deepened ever more at the teacher's back.

Of course his notes were in order. They were neat, concise, and without a doubt a sight better than anyone else's. They also fit themselves neatly over the scroll again, whatever mystical properties it held making it lift itself to level with the surface paper instead of the top of the table it had descended to when the professor snatched his notes away.

He waited until the professor's back was already turned to the dry erase board again, the marker skimming smoothly along the surface in some formula that Ichigo really hoped was in his book, because his fingers were already grasping at the scroll as casually as he could make them. It would be so odd for someone to see him clutching at nothing as though his life depended on it. Even more ironic that it wasn't his life he was concerned with, but theirs, and their afterlives. He shook his head faintly trying to clear the thoughts. It was neither here nor there, and the fact that he was so able to protect himself while still living wasn't any of their fault or problem.

It was sealed with kido, and Ichigo fought the urge to roll his eyes. It had come from Yamamoto-Soutaichou, the paranoid old bastard. Only he would seal it with such a high level kido and still expect Ichigo to be able to unseal it without drawing attention from the rest of the class. He sighed, contemplating the old bathroom excuse.

A thump from the front of the classroom made Ichigo's eyes dart forward again, and he found the disapproving frown of the professor. Again. "Is there a problem, Kurosaki-san?" the diminutive man all but hissed at him.

"No," Ichigo said again, his voice the same foreboding sound it had been before, even as his eyes told the teacher, _Yes, you're the problem, and I have so many painful ways to deal with insects like you._

Without even caring what the professor would think Ichigo turned his back on the little man, propping his book up and letting reiatsu flare along his long fingers until it was strong enough to break the kido seal. He certainly didn't have the time to mutter and mumble his way through one of those epic length spells Rukia was always spouting off when some quick work with her zanpakuto would suffice as easily. He was lucky there wasn't anyone remotely aware of what he was doing, because the seal broke with a dazzling display of light—no doubt old man Yamamoto had expected he'd take the shortcut of sheer power.

Ichigo twitched one of his shoulders, a half shrug that was barely noticeable. Sheer power had saved him—and many of those he cared about—more times than he cared to admit. Not always, but nearly.

The scroll unraveled itself and Ichigo's amber eyes scanned the smooth script until his fingers dropped it numbly, not wanting to believe what he was reading.

_All taichou's of the Gotei 13 are hereby recalled to Seireitei under sealed orders. The Arrancar incursions have been confirmed and new intelligence has been checked and verified. Aizen Sousuke is alive and creating a new army. Report to the 1st Division immediately—this information is on a need to know basis. Anyone below the rank of taichou is not authorized to read this scroll._

_-Y.G._

Ichigo's chest froze for a moment as he forgot what it was to breath, the sudden ice slicing through him even stilling his heart. It was supposed to be old Arrancar that slipped through the cracks, not new ones fresh created by a psychopath who should be dead! The Winter War was over, he wasn't supposed to have to worry about losing anyone else because of that power hungry megalomaniac. He wasn't supposed to have to sacrifice anything else for Aizen Sousuke.

Memories were such a funny thing, even more so than Senna had ever been before she'd turned to nothing more than thoughts on the wind. Things that Ichigo had buried for six years were welling up inside of him, threatening to break his composure. He hadn't cried then, he refused to cry now, not for anything. But he could never deny how much it had hurt. The pain lessened a little each time he visited Chad's grave, each time he saw him in the Rukongai, but that didn't change the fact that Sado Yasutora had given his life to save Ichigo's in the Winter War.

If it were possible to see red then Ichigo would have been seeing it. The sheer memory of Chad's death, of the pain that they'd all been through because of the war and it's aftermath, were always enough to drive Ichigo into a killing rage. It was one of the things that had won the Winter War in the first place, the death of such a stalwart compatriot driving so many of them to push themselves unto the breaking point.

Renji, Rukia, Ishida. Himself. Even Kyoraku-Taichou, though he'd been somewhat fond of Chad from the moment he'd stood up to the captain. It was to be expected; the Gotei 13 always respected loyalty.

But now? For Aizen to actually be alive? To have tricked them all and still be scheming to destroy Soul Society and Seireitei? No—that was unacceptable.

The scroll was left, not forgotten, but unneeded. He had his orders: the Gotei 13 required all of its captains present. As acting captain of the 5th, Ichigo had no choice but to go.

A clatter of marker on desk made Ichigo's eyes shoot to the front of the classroom, his amber gaze cold and hard and, if anyone in the room had the experience to tell, full of death. "_Is_ there a problem, Kurosaki-san?" Professor Kensei was little more than a broken record at this point, and Ichigo gave the teacher a smile full of malicious pleasure.

"Yes, there is."

xXx

_Aizen Sousuke is alive and creating a new army._

Hitsugaya's eyes closed as his fingers clenched around the paper. He didn't need to read further to know that he would never tell Hinamori. It could wait until the public announcement—for there would be one. They had won by the edge of two traitors six years ago. Aizen had gone for god only knows how long unchecked as he made his new army; Hitsugaya didn't lay good odds on the shinigami ranks to stand against him. Not now, maybe not ever. There were still too many wounds that had yet to heal, and six years was nowhere near long enough.

The mere thought of Aizen was enough to make him lose control: Hitsugaya forced his jaw unclenched and his eyes open, but did nothing about the way his fingers clawed into the paper of the scroll. It was riddled with wrinkles and stares, but his ocean colored gaze only looked at it impassively.

There were few things in his life that Hitsugaya Toushirou had ever truly hated. Aizen Sousuke topped the list with an ice-cold hatred that sometimes left the young taichou shivering and dumb with its fury. The man was a viper, a snake in the heart of the Gotei 13, twisting and warping every good thing he touched with the venom of his illusion and the depths of his madness for power. A traitor—worse than that, a betrayer. Hitsugaya was one of the few people in all of Soul Society who could ever understand that distinction. It was bad enough that Aizen had turned on his fellow shinigami, that he had turned to the very creatures he should have been destroying and purifying.

It was worse because he was taking innocent shinigami with him.

There was a list several dozen names long of the shinigami Aizen had manipulated, brainwashed, illusioned into being his unwitting accomplices. Hitsugaya only cared about one of them, the very one who had been injured the most by the ex-captains treachery. Hinamori had loved her taichou in every way possible, the source of so much anger and jealousy on Hitsugaya's part. Every single thing that he had ever wanted from Hinamori, Aizen had had.

And what had he done with it? He'd used her, turned her on her friends, the only family she had ever known, and then abandoned her for it. And when she still sought him out in blind love he'd killed her.

The scroll was gone in an instant, startling Matsumoto from the doze she'd been in on the couch as it thudded against a bookshelf, the weight increased exponentially by the ice that suddenly encased it. The wooden shelves shook, a handful of books and neatly rolled scrolls on kido crashing down with the frozen missive from the soutaichou.

"Taichou?" she asked, sitting up and blinking the sleep from her face. He knew that had there been an actual threat she would have thundered from her dreams, Haineko in hand and ash already seeping free to protect her captain. Hitsugaya also knew that the woman, one of his closest friends, already knew that the most dangerous thing in the vicinity was him, just as he did.

"Get out, Matsumoto," he ordered, his voice harsh and low. Hitsugaya turned away from her so that she couldn't see his face, couldn't read what was written there. She would assume, as he hoped, that the cause of his sudden rage was Hinamori. He'd been driven to anger so many times in the last six years because of what had happened.

At least then he wouldn't be lying if she asked who was at fault. He could say Aizen without fear of breaking the written order. The gods only knew what would happen then. Surely he wouldn't be executed for violating the direct written order that had followed the statement that triggered his rage. But he could never be sure, even with the surety of war looming once again.

To her credit, Matsumoto didn't argue, and Hitsugaya watched silently as she left, tossing worried glances back at him. The moment the door closed behind her, though, Hitsugaya let his reiatsu go. Within seconds the walls of his office were coated in ice, shimmering blue and white with the midday sun streaming through and bouncing from the frozen caps. The scroll from Yamamoto, anything and everything that Hitsugaya hadn't been touching, was buried under several feet of ice. He and the chair he sat in were the only things not encased, and Hitsugaya leaned back in the chair, letting his eyes stare up at the ceiling.

The ice distorted his view of the wood above him, but he didn't care. It was easier to let himself be mesmerized, try to forget for a moment that he'd suspected all along. It was different, though, to be handed the confirmation that the only person Hitsugaya wanted very much dead was still alive.

But it explained so much, that scroll did. Hitsugaya himself had been given charge of the initial investigation into the arrancar. It was only right and so, since he'd been the one to realize after a handful of encounters, that these arrancar were none that had ever been seen before, and had neither been known by captured and executed arrancar nor by their informants within Hueco Mundo and Las Noches. He'd led two reconnaissance missions before being pulled from the duty, and that in itself only seemed to confirm what he'd begun to suspect: that their extermination of Aizen and his organization was not in any way as complete as Seireitei had thought.

Hitsugaya never considered that Aizen was still alive.

"Goddammit," he muttered as he shoved himself to his feet.

Aizen had cost so many so much. Even Kurosaki had paid for it in blood, when his nakama had been killed. Poor bastard had shown up in the Rukongai without a trace of reiatsu, doomed to toil like the rest of the souls there unless whatever influence Ichigo had wrought on his soul in the mortal coil manifested itself here in his afterlife. Three divisions had lost their captains; Seireitei had lost hundreds of shinigami. Matsumoto herself had lost a man she's known from childhood, a man that Hitsugaya knew she loved more than anything bar Haineko. Not that his fukutaichou had ever told him what was between her and Ichimaru Gin. Not that he'd ever asked. But some things needn't have been, because the fox-faced taichou had betrayed Aizen before the last, and he'd done it for Matsumoto Rangiku.

And Hinamori. Hitsugaya was sure that _his_ Hinamori had died the day that Aizen had faked his death, letting an illusion be pinned to a snow-white wall like a butterfly on display. Gods above, it always came back to her. But nothing had been the same after the Winter War, and neither had they. She was so scarred from what Aizen did, and he was so scarred from what she did.

It went without saying that whatever they had once been, they weren't any longer. Unahona had forced him to wait until a year after the war before she allowed him to see Hinamori. She had forced Hinamori to wait six more months before she allowed her near Hitsugaya again. But they'd fought. Each other, everyone else, and they had come back to something close to before. Friends again, near unto family. She'd started calling him Shirou-chan again sometime in the last year.

He still dreamt of her drawing Tobiume on him.

But it was a start, and he would be damned if he let Aizen Sousuke change it.

Hyourinmaru welled inside of him; Hitsugaya let the dragon rise to beneath his skin, drawing the ice back away from the walls and into him again, a freezing swirl of pure reiatsu. As it went the scrolls and books waylaid were returned to their shelves, and the parchment scroll from the 1st found its way back to Hitsugaya's hand. He spared a glance for his office, noting that the paperwork in his outbox (because there was never anything in Matsumoto's would need to be redone—the damp from the ice had made the ink run. Then he was headed to the other side of Seireitei, his captain's haori flapping behind him like great, white angel wings.

xXx

The War Room always made Ichigo think of something much bigger and far more grand than it was in actuality. The fact that he'd been fifteen six years ago let him point things out that the other taichou's had surely been dying to for decades, if not centuries. By simple virtue of his youth he'd managed to cut through some of Seireitei's red tape in ways that were nothing but beneficial to the overall structure of Soul Society and, quite possibly, the continued sanity of the remaining taichou's.

Six years ago the leaders of the Gotei 13 would have gathered in the hallowed halls of the 1st while Yamamoto handed down orders like edicts: to be blindly followed with scarcely any input outside of his own. On the rare occasions he allowed input it was usually only assigned reconnaissance, nearly entirely handled by Toushirou and Soifon-taichou's forces. Ichigo had told the old man that his insistence on being sole leader was useless and outdated.

The War Room was loud with the still gathering captains, but Ichigo could easily remember the gasps that had arisen when he'd dared speak so rudely to the soutaichou. He snorted as he leaned back in his chair. Rudeness his ass; it was nothing more than prudence and practicality. Granted, after sitting as head of the 5th for six years, he could have handled it with a bit more tact now than he had back then—but not much more. He was only twenty-one; he still didn't have that much tact.

In the end it had worked out well. The War Room was still in the first division, but it wasn't much more than a medium sized room with a long table. Yamamoto still lorded it over one end, but Unahona-taichou countered him directly opposite, with everyone else spread in between. Ichigo made a point of always trying to sit next to Nemu or Toushirou. Hisagi-fukutaichou was all right, but he wasn't exactly fun to annoy. The man let far too much roll off his back, so Ichigo let his best disrespect go to the youngest taichou of the remaining captains.

Nemu, however, was never to be teased. She was far too sweet for her own good, though she barely showed it. She reminded him of Rukia, which always made the tedious meetings better.

The table was less filled than usual today, since Yamamoto had forbidden the fukutaichous. It effectively left the 3rd, 9th and 12th out of the meeting, but there was nothing Ichigo could think to do. Kira and Hisagi were both… damaged by what Aizen had done, and the fact that their captain's had followed the man into hell, abandoning their comrades in Seireitei. Worse for them especially since for a time, they'd followed Ichimaru and Tousen. At least Nemu had the peace of mind that she had not betrayed Soul Society, though Kurotsuchi-taichou's death in the Winter War had come as something of a shock.

Apparently Aizen had been more wary of the mad scientist than anyone had realized, to send one of his arrancar on a suicide mission. Lucky that Nemu had been there and was able to kill it before it went after any of the other taichou's. They were down five at the time; they could scarce afford to lose another. Fortunately two of the five had been replaced, one of them by Ichigo himself. The other replacement was entering the War Room even as Ichigo thought about it, Yoruichi golden eyes flashing as she found him and immediately came to sit on his left.

"Have you spoken to anyone?" the older shinigami asked him, and Ichigo simply rolled his eyes at her.

"And go against old man Yamamoto's orders? Not even to Urahara," he answered simply as he examined her. Yoruichi was looking at him from beneath her lashes, her hair swept over her shoulder in a thick wine-colored tail. He knew that she had already spoken with the shop owner; how could she not have with such a feline smile of superiority?

"You shouldn't have done that, Yoruichi-san. Yamamoto takes his orders so seriously," but Ichigo was cracking a smile, the first since he'd received his orders, and trying to hold back a chuckle.

The captain of the 2nd waved her hand at him before lounging back in her chair. "Ah, you worry too much. Kisuke has every right to know everything. It's his life's work, after all."

The chuckle did escape, but Ichigo smothered it quickly. Maturity wasn't all he'd hoped it would be, and grown up responsibilities were usually worse than annoying. But everyone now present, from junior to senior taichou, knew that they were present because of Aizen and the arrancar. There was no sense in trying to antagonize his associates when their very presence brought back every loss and sacrifice they had made.

As much as he wanted to tease Yoruichi properly, the gravity of the situation seemed to leech all of his good humor away. "I could wish that he did," he told the Shihoin princess. "Maybe if he had, we wouldn't be here right now."

"Ah, who knows?" she asked rhetorically as she settled into her chair next to him.

Ichigo didn't even bother pretending she wanted an answer and instead just leaned on the arm of his chair, drumming his fingers as the rest of the captains began to take their seats when Yamamoto entered the room. Yamamoto settled in to his place of pride at the head of the table and Ichigo stopped drumming, his attention focused on the soutaichou. Yamamoto didn't seem to be in a terrible hurry, despite the fact that he'd called the immediate meeting, and questions were swirling around inside Ichigo's head as he waited.

Wrinkled fingers splayed on the table and the commander finally spoke. "You all know why I've called you here, and the floor will open on this momentarily. But there is never an ill that is not countered by some good: The verified return of Aizen Sousuke has brought a new member into our hallowed ranks."

Ichigo spared a glance at Yoruichi as he wondered blankly for a moment who might have been promoted without a council being convened. Not that Ichigo would have been on said council, since he was merely an acting captain; but he would have known. And honestly, he already knew who the best candidates were, and none of them were suited to the divisions in desperate need of a taichou. Especially when the front-runner was Ikkaku Madarame from the 11th. That man was entirely too violent to belong anywhere outside of Zaraki-taichou's keeping, though he might have made a decent go of it in the 9th. If Hisagi didn't try killing him first.

Yoruichi's face was split in a wide, smug smile, and for a moment he was reminded of the short but potent conversation they'd just had. She was telling him who it was, and he knew it. But Urahara had been exiled, and he'd refused to come back no matter what, even in the aftermath of Aizen and the Winter War. Sometimes Ichigo thought that he was performing a penance for creating the Hogyoku by not allowing himself to return. And yet, Yoruichi looked so pleased, like the proverbial cat with cream covered whiskers.

When the lean figure of Urahara Kisuke swept in, shinigami robes replacing his ever-present green striped hat and wooden clogs, Ichigo felt his jaw drop. The white haori carelessly draped over the mans shoulders only seemed to emphasize it, though the displeasure flashing in his gray eyes was in no way hidden by the pale hair that was trying to cover them. Benehime was swept over a shoulder, and Urahara glanced around the room for a moment, nodding at a few other captains besides Ichigo himself, before dropping in to the empty seat next to the younger shinigami.

On his other side, Yoruichi chuckled as she poked a finger at Ichigo and Urahara ignored her. "Didn't I tell you that you worry too much, I?" she drawled at him. Ichigo just glared at her.

xXx

**This will probably be updated once a month at best, but enjoy. Barring changes there will be five volumes. This AN will be deleted in the future.**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Arrancar Wars**

** Volume One: Let There Be War**

**Chapter 2**

"Momo! Momo-chan!" Matsumoto Rangiku trailed a hand down her hair as she spied the object of her hunt.

After everything that had happened before, during and after the Winter War six years before, it was no secret that whenever Hitsugaya-taichou lost his temper good and proper the cause of it tended to be Hinamori Momo. No that Hinamori knew it, of course; Matsumoto had enlisted far too many of her fellow fukutaichou's to protect the girl from that knowledge, since it could very well break her. Of all of Aizen's victims, Matsumoto sometimes thought that it was Hinamori who had the heaviest burden to bear.

Every shinigami had some burden to bear, simply because they'd all been duped into trusting those who would ultimately betray them. But there was a handful that hurt more than most: Hisagi, Kira, Hinamori, and herself.

Sometimes Matsumoto thought that it didn't hurt as much as it could. She, at least, never woke up to the knowledge that she'd followed in a traitorous captain's footsteps. The one time Hitsugaya had ever made his loyalty questionable, he'd done it in such a way that his loyalty had never actually wavered. Though Matsumoto could scarce believe that the prodigy had ever truly shared Hyourinmaru's affections with another shinigami, she couldn't deny the happenings before the Winter War. But still, six years had passed, and she'd never wavered in her loyalty.

But she could understand. Despite knowing instinctively that Hitsugaya-taichou was no traitor, Matsumoto had still tried to follow him when the rest of Seireitei was sure he was. So she did know, better than anyone else could, what had happened to her three friends. It was easier for her because of that, and because Gin hadn't been… Well, he hadn't been the man she'd wanted him to be for a long time. She'd known, there was no way Matsumoto could not know. Ignoring it and hoping for the best were weak courses of action. Her only excuse was that she loved him.

Still did, truth be told. It was a fact that pushed forcibly aside as she came alongside Hinamori. The younger woman was sitting on the wooden porch behind her division, her legs curled up to her as she stared out at the small pond the 5th had been built in front of.

"Hinamori?" Matsumoto asked, and the other fukutaichou looked up at her. Matsumoto never missed how tired and unhappy Hinamori looked. Just like her taichou.

"Rangiku-san," the brown haired girl gave her a small smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Taichou was upset," Matsumoto answered as she lowered herself gracefully to sit next to Hinamori. "Why so formal?"

Hinamori blushed. "Let us call it a longstanding habit."

Matsumoto knew that Hinamori was referring to her long recovery, and the years she'd distanced herself from everyone. She had refused Hitsugaya in particular for the better part of those two years, until her taichou had nearly demolished the 4th and 5th both looking for his friend. She reached a hand out to brush the long locks from Hinamori's face so that they were tucked behind her ear before dropping her hand to her shoulder.

"I don't desire such formality at all, Momo-chan. You'll address me as Rangiku-chan, or Ran-chan, or I'll make Renji and Hisagi throw you in the lake in Karakura town," Matsumoto sniffed with faked disdain.

Hinamori smiled and shook her head. "You are a cruel, cruel woman, Rangiku-chan. That's even more cruel than tricking Kira into doing all of your paperwork by loosening your kimono." She paused for a moment before looking down and letting her hair fall forward once more to cover her face.

Matsumoto hated the habit the girl had developed in her self-imposed isolation, but there was nothing she could do when Hinamori was still so intent on hiding herself. Matsumoto could hardly blame Hinamori for it though, the girl was still so fragile.

"He's angry with me?" Hinamori finally asked, and Matsumoto bit her lip as she considered the unexpected words.

She'd thought that taichou was angry with Hinamori again—not that it was ever Hinamori's fault—but there was only so much he could be expected to take. He'd certainly shown Soul Society what lay beneath his icy exterior a time or two since Aizen, and Matsumoto was forever grateful that the traitor was dead and gone. She could only imagine in her darkest nightmares what Aizen could bring about if he'd not been killed in the Winter War. Besides, Aizen had been Gin's damnation and his redemption, all in one evil package. For that she would be more than grateful.

But Hinamori had asked, she was uncertain. Which meant that the scroll Hitsugaya-taichou had been reading, had flung away from himself so angrily before turning the office into an ice cube, wasn't from his childhood friend. And no matter that Matsumoto had been napping for hours before his outburst, Hinamori had been nowhere near the 10th, nor had her taichou left it since he'd seated himself before stacks of papers demanding his signature that morning shortly after dawn broke.

She hmm'd and nearly laughed as Hinamori turned stricken chocolate brown eyes to her. "Is he really angry? Don't lie to me, Ran-chan, please!" Hinamori pleaded.

"No, silly Momo. Taichou isn't angry with you. I thought he was," she confessed, "but I think that it must be something else. Besides, it's not really you he gets angry with."

The look Hinamori gave Matsumoto was withering and insulting rolled into one. "I'm sure Hitsugaya-kun wouldn't see it that way."

Matsumoto tilted her head to the side as she regarded Hinamori's face. It was pretty, she could easily see why her taichou loved the girl. Even now, as broken as Aizen had made her and as whole as Unahona could remake her, she still had such innocence about her. There was none of the ruthlessness that seemed to grow inside shinigami as they aged. In fact, if it weren't for the subtle changes that marked the change from youth to woman, Matsumoto might not be able to tell that Hinamori had changed at all since her academy days.

She could easily recall seeing Hinamori in the academy as she avoided work in the 10th. Many of her fellow shinigami thought she'd learned her habits from sheer laziness, but Matsumoto knew better. She'd served under Kurosaki Isshin for some years, moving from 6th seat to his right hand woman. And that man knew how to shirk. Not drink, since Isshin never could hold his sake. She'd always counted on Shunsui as a drinking buddy—but Isshin had instilled a finely honed sense of avoiding work of all kinds in Matsumoto Rangiku.

Hinamori had followed her dream and had tested well enough to be placed in Kira and Renji's general classes. Hisagi himself had taught her somewhat. She'd looked so young then, with her short hair in pigtails and her academy uniform. But still so capable.

Funny that Matsumoto couldn't find that girl in the one she was looking at now—the changes were so slight that it seemed as though the memory was wrong and out of date.

"He cares about you."

She was a blunt woman, with subtlety having been left behind somewhere in the Rukongai when she passed a C cup, but Matsumoto was careful with her words. Hitsugaya Toushirou was not a man to be trifled with, and she had no doubt that, taichou or no, he would make her regret it if she suddenly burst out that he loved Momo blindly and adoringly. But the girl deserved to know, to at least have a chance to understand, why her best friend was so angry with her constantly. With her yes, at her no, and the difference was as vast as worlds.

Hinamori's eyes sought the water again as she spoke softly. "I know he cares. He's my best friend."

If sighing wouldn't have been so suspicious, Matsumoto would have gusted the girl away.

It was so much easier to understand what Gin had been trying to tell her. After all, he was one of the most selfish people she knew, and he'd died for something she believed in. Matsumoto smiled as she followed Hinamori's gaze to the peaceful water. That statement had been that he still loved her, and she appreciated it. It hurt that he was gone, it hurt that he hadn't survived betraying Aizen, but he'd given her the memory of a man who had died doing what was right, which was far more often harder than anything that wasn't. Ichimaru Gin never took anything but the path of least resistance, but he had, because he loved her.

It meant almost as much as him staying with her when she was spindly, gangly, boyish little nobody, and loving her even then.

But Hitsugaya was a far more complex creature than Matsumoto had ever given him credit for. Complex, but still male. It wasn't difficult to understand, for her at least, that he was only angry with Hinamori because she was the target of convenience. He wanted things the way they were, and he was trapped with what he had.

It could be worse, she knew. And she knew her taichou knew that, too.

They could have lost. The could be dead. _She_ could be dead. Though, had Hinamori died, Matsumoto was sure that the 10th Division would once again be searching for a captain, standing in line with the rank and file of three other leaderless divisions. Instead they were all hurt, some of them beyond recognition. But they were alive. Damaged, but alive.

Finally Matsumoto shook her head as she lounged back. "There's nothing I can say to you, Momo, that will be what you need to hear."

Hinamori gave Matsumoto a wan smile. "I'd like to hear him call me Momo again. Even if he's insulting me." Her nose wrinkled and despite the gravity between the two, Hinamori gave a small laugh.

Matsumoto smiled. "Taichou likes it when you call him Shirou-chan. It makes him smile after her frowns. Just don't tell him I told you so, or he'll freeze me to my desk and never let me leave until all my work is done!"

xXx

"If we meet them head on, we could have a real chance. Not even Aizen would expect us to do something so forward," Zaraki-taichou was saying. Surprisingly he had support, though Hitsugaya wasn't sure how impressive it was to have the half assed assent Ichigo had given. Komamura had been a surprise, though. Hitsugaya had started his career in the Gotei 13 underneath the vulpine taichou and had never expected the suddenly bloodthirsty streak the man was displaying.

Though Hitsugaya supposed it was an acceptable attitude considering that Aizen had corrupted the first and best friend his once-taichou had ever had. No matter what had happened, there were some wounds that would take longer than a paltry six years to heal, even if most of the parties involved were dead.

As he'd expected once the gist of the meeting had been met, there were plans being thrown across the table from all sides. Of all present, only Yamamoto, Unahona and Hitsugaya himself had held their council. Though Ichigo had thrown his lot in with Zaraki, but it hadn't surprised Hitsugaya that he'd done it. The surprise had been that Ichigo had been noticeably silent barring a murmured agreement when the violent taichou of the 11th had cornered him verbally. The young acting captain's mind was far from the meeting he was sitting in on, but Hitsugaya thought that given the volatile subject he might be one of very few that had noticed.

Yoruichi-taichou had settled herself next to the orange haired shinigami, nearly a perfect opposite of Hitsugaya's own seat, and she was flaring her temper now as he watched and waited. It was second nature, he supposed, to notice things. Just one of the many talents and habits that had made the commander general send him in to sortie alongside Soifon when she had led the 2nd. Barring the fact that an angry Shihoin Yoruichi was nearly as interesting a sight as Matsumoto sober, Hitsugaya couldn't help but focus his attention on the way she had barely paid Urahara Kisuke any attention since he'd joined their ranks as the reinstated taichou of the 12th.

"We all know how stupid a full frontal assault would be," she got out loudly over Zaraki's proclamation that such an attack would be best. She glared the much taller down into his seat next to her before turning to the far corner to find Komamura's inhuman gaze. "Even you, Komamura, and I'm not even going to mention you, Ichigo."

"But what do you have in mind, exactly, Yoruichi-san?" Ukitake questioned. Hitsugaya watched the older taichou shift from the corner of his eye, something in the back of his mind pointing out that no matter what course of action was decided the odds of the ill taichou participating were very slim.

Yoruichi sat down, completely aware that the floor was hers and content to ignore Zaraki's contemptuous snorts from beside her. "We have the element of surprise," she began. "I don't doubt that Aizen is prepared for the event of being discovered, but given the intelligence we have thanks to Hitsugaya-taichou and my Special Forces, I think that assuming Aizen has no idea that we know is safe."

"Assumptions have led us to war before, Yoruichi-san," Ukitake offered, his words heavy between them. "We assumed once that Aizen was dead, and he nearly killed several of us before removing himself and his accomplices to Hueco Mundo."

Next to him Kyoraku shifted. "We also assumed him dead a second time, Jyuu-chan, and now it's come to roost on our shoulders." Ukitake inclined his head in agreement.

"Be that as it may, Ukitake, Kyoraku," Yoruichi responded. "There has been no indication that Aizen or any of his arrancar have any idea we know of their existence. We have the tactical advantage, and it would be foolish not to use it against him."

It was rare that Kyoraku Shunsui was cold sober and serious, but Hitsugaya could appreciate the way the man was considering Yoruichi's words. "He still has the Hogyoku; this places us at a distinct disadvantage. Attacking, even discreetly, will be for naught without negating Aizen's ability to create new arrancar at will."

Nearly a dozen sets of eyes turned to eyeball the newly reappointed Urahara-taichou, and Hitsugaya continued to focus his attention on the man, for now ignoring the tension that seemed to radiate across the distance and single shinigami separating him from Shihoin-taichou. Urahara appeared calm, but the way his mouth tightened slightly, the tension around his eyes and the way his eyes seemed to look through the stares and not acknowledge them told Hitsugaya a different story than what the captain presented.

"Can it be destroyed, Urahara?" Yamamoto asked, the first time he'd spoken since the start of the meeting.

Urahara sat back without looking at the commander general. He spread his hands on the table, long fingers expansive as he said, "In theory, yes."

The outcry from several throats seemed to take the taichou of the 12th aback as he darted gray-green eyes up to narrow them at his detractors. "In theory, it can be destroyed," he repeated, this time raising his voice above the furor. "Exactly as I said about the Hogyoku actually working: in theory."

"Given that your theories tend to be accurate, Kisuke," Unahona addressed him with a serene countenance, "_Can_ you destroy it?"

Urahara nodded once, sharply, and guilt played across his features.

"Well, then that's settled," Unahona smiled.

"Except for the fact that we don't _have_ the Hogyoku. It's still firmly in Aizen's possession."

It was the only thing Hitsugaya had said since entering the room, seemingly content to hold his peace as the soutaichou and Unahona had. A simple, needless to say point, but at the rate they were going Hitsugaya was forced to wonder how many of them had let that once small fact slip their minds in the faint hope of being able to destroy the Hogyoku. A foolish dream, at any rate, since destroying the thing was likely to destroy the destroyer and a good piece of wherever the act was carried out. Hitsugaya had taken the time years ago to read all of the research he could find concerning the device that Urahara had built, up to and including a single unauthorized trip to the real world to ask Urahara himself. To think that the Hogyoku was easily destroyed was foolish, but hope was an easy emotion to grasp at when one was desperate.

"If Aizen isn't expecting it, we could attempt to infiltrate Las Noches," Yoruichi opined. "It would destroy any chances at future sneak attacks, but the outcome would be without measure if we were successful."

"Do you really believe we would be successful, Yoruichi?" Urahara asked, and the female captain tossed an angry golden glare his way.

"I think that it's far better to attempt something than to sit here and wait for him to come to us, _Urahara-taichou._"

If there was a single person in the room who missed the banked fury in the woman's address, Hitsugaya would eat his zanpakuto without sauce. But she did have a point, despite the fact that it would no doubt be a suicide mission. But still, the idea of infiltrating Las Noches and Aizen's ranks was asking a firm foothold in Hitsugaya's mind, and he let the thought drift in the back of his mind as he sat back in his chair to observe once more.

Urahara didn't flinch, merely looked at the angry captain for a long moment before responding to her in a voice that was so calm and even that Hitsugaya knew that it was hiding the truth. "To risk sacrificing so many on a task that will most likely fail is far more wasteful than we can afford to be, Shihoin-taichou." And while Urahara hadn't flinched in the least, Yoruichi did for a heartbeat at his address to her. "We have limited shinigami and cannot 'create' new ones as if by magic."

"There are fewer shinigami entering the ranks of the Gotei 13 now than ever before," Kuchiki-taichou put in. "It seems that there's a high number of accidents in our prospective candidates than ever before; more than half are being reincarnated due to misadventure."

Despite keeping his ears to the ground in all things concerning his division and the Gotei 13 in general, Hitsugaya started at this. This, he hadn't known, and the news was a devastating blow to half of the tactical scenarios he'd run in his head. "Aizen," he breathed, cursing the traitor more now than ever before. He felt more than saw Komamura's surprise at the harsh way he'd spoken the exiled captain's name, his eyes were too focused on Kuchiki-taichou's calm nod to acknowledge his former captain in any way.

"Yes," Kuchiki said. "So we have begun to realize."

"Despite that, there's some merit in Yoruichi-san's suggestion." Kyoraku removed his ever present straw hat, laying it on the table before him and running his hands down the sloping sides of it habitually. "If we could manage to retrieve the Hogyoku, we could throw Aizen's plans into such disarray that we might be able to defeat him once and for all."

The dissent was expected, but the dissenter came as a surprise when Ukitake shook his head and crossed his arms in front of him, his eyes looking away from his long time friend.

"I believe I must speak against our esteemed Yoruichi-san's suggestion," Ukitake said softly. "Were we to commit ourselves too completely to a single attempt that holds no kind of guarantee of succeeding, I believe that we would find ourselves shortly at Aizen's nonexistent mercy." The white-haired taichou paused for a moment, his breath coming out in a deceptively easy sigh. "To add insult to injury, we have searched for the Hogyoku for six years and have come no closer to finding it now that we were at the beginning of the war."

"Then what do you suggest?" Yoruichi asked acerbically. "That we simply sit here and wait for him to come to us?"

Kuchiki-taichou interrupted with a glance at the angry woman. "Beyond strategy, we must also consider that there is still a traitor in our midst."

The silence that fell was thick with fury, but no one said anything until Yamamoto rapped his hand down against the wooden table. "That is a harsh accusation, Byakuya," he said stonily.

Kuchiki inclined his head, hair falling over his face for a moment until he righted himself. "I am aware of that, soutaichou. But it is still true: Aizen is picking off our shinigami with far too much accuracy. Logically, someone is feeding him information. A traitor."

Again the taichou's voices clashed across the table, arguing and declaiming, though none of the accusing each other. Hitsugaya was grateful for that, since it would have been far too painful to hear more recriminations against any of them, beyond the fact that the idea any of the remaining taichou's could be traitors made him near physically sick. But it was true, he'd already begun to suspect it before Kuchiki said it aloud. Once it was said there was no way Hitsugaya could deny the fact that a traitor was not only possible or probable, but was a fact of the situation.

The arguing reached a dull roar before Urahara stood, his zanpakuto still sealed into her cane form but crashing down on the table in a shuddering blow that silenced the furor.

"There are ways to ensure that those present are loyal," he said into the sudden silence. "Sodium thiopental."

Hitsugaya had never heard of it, but neither had he spent a century living in the human world. His eyes were already turning to Ichigo even as the young shinigami straightened, his eyes glued to the former shopkeeper.

"Sodium pentothal?" he questioned, and shook his head. "I'll give you that it's a truth serum, but it's unreliable at best. Even in the human world they admit that."

Urahara smiled, a cold baring of teeth. "It may be unreliable for humans, but I am no human to use such a delicate chemical like a sledgehammer. I can wield it like a finely made scalpel to reveal truth from lies, and loyalty from any shinigami I ply it to."

Ichigo lifted his shoulders in a half shrug. "So you say, Hat 'n Clogs." He smirked as Urahara frowned at him before seating himself again as did the other captains of the Gotei 13.

"And yet we still have no plan of attack," Yoruichi finally said, breaking the silence.

Hitsugaya sat there for a moment, feeling pale and ill as his mind clicked over again, whatever brilliance he vaunted as the youngest taichou failing him as he dismissed yet another possibility. The fact that there was still silence told him that none of his fellow captains had any more suggestions to offer, and Hitsugaya still held his silence, fear wrapping itself icily in his heart as he realized that the only true option was one he didn't want to consider. But still, it wasn't a bad idea. Just… painfully wrong to truly consider. He imagined Yoruichi would approve of it, though, since she was content with the idea of infiltration.

He'd known many pieces, but the more he'd learned the more Hitsugaya realized that Aizen was well and truly entrenched in Seireitei still. Subterfuge, betrayal, shadows within shadows. The best way to fight it was to become it.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, even as his body trembled.

"I've heard it said behind my back. _Tensai_," he said softly. His hands were fisted in the folds of his haori as his eyes remained glued to the table, as if the wood grain were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

"I've never acknowledged it, but we all know that there's a reason why I graduated from the academy in less than a year, and gained my captaincy in another five."

He paused, finally lifting his head to survey the table and ensure that he had their attention. He met each of their eyes in turn, knowing that his own gaze was troubled and worried, and not bothering to hide it. They had to know, needed to know, how dangerous this idea was, this attempt at strategy, even before Hitsugaya came out and told them what he'd thought up.

He dropped his eyes again, voice firmer now as he told them, "I believe that there is a way out of this."

This time when he looked up his eyes were a cold, clear sea-green. Dead and empty unless one knew what to look for, and Hitsugaya was sure that none seated around him knew how troubled his next words made him.

"But it will involve sacrifices."

xXx

**Adding one more freebie chapter since the single one seemed cruel and unusual. This AN will be deleted in the future.**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Arrancar Wars**

** Volume One: Let There Be War**

**Chapter 3  
**

Despite having forgone further schooling after Karakura High, Inoue Orihime was well settled into her life as nothing but a civilian. The Winter War had left its mark across Karakura as well as Soul Society, and more so on the girl and her friends. Even with six years separating her present from her past, she could still remember quite well the pain of attending Chad's funeral. It was a small, quiet affair, and though she knew that he was alive and well (in a manner) somewhere in the Rukongai, she'd cried for days over it.

None of them had been the same since then, but sometimes Orihime thought that she was the one who had changed the most. Chad was dead, but he was much the same in his afterlife as he had been living. Ichigo and Rukia still fought whenever she saw the two of them together. They still made eyes at each other when the other wasn't looking, too, though that fact no longer made her heart hurt.

Uryuu was much the same as he had been, still overwhelmingly involved in his Quincy honor, though he was on good terms with his father now. And her. They'd been seeing each other since the summer after Aizen's defeat, had lived together for three years.

She sighed as she slid another plate into the water before dunking her hands in to scrub it. No, Uryuu hadn't changed, and she had, so very much. It wasn't so much the intervening years as it was the weeks leading to the Winter War, and some of what actually happened, though she had been kept well away from the front lines. No, she had only been present when someone needed healing, safe and sound exactly where Ichigo had wanted her.

She smiled a little at that, the expression reaching her warm brown eyes. It was easy to realize now that he had never been anything more than a friend to her. As much as she might have wanted otherwise, even the very fact that she couldn't bring herself to address him as anything but 'Kurosaki-kun' until after the war told her better than anything else that something inside of Orihime already knew where she stood with Ichigo, and where he stood with her.

It was good to know where she stood with him. With all of her friends, really, even Uryuu.

Sometimes she still wished that she could have five lifetimes to live. She could spare one or two for Ichigo and Uryuu, for the dream she once had, for the life she was now living. The rest she would give to Ulquiorra without regret.

She often thought about him, but even Orihime never knew what happened to him after the war. She only knew that between him, Grimmjow, and Ichimaru Gin, Aizen was felled and Seireitei victorious. The three of them had played such a part in the final battle, though she was certain that only Ulquiorra and Ichimaru went into it knowing what they would do. Grimmjow had been more of a hesitance, failing to respond to Aizen's command to defend instantly and letting Ichimaru past his guard. Grimmjow had fallen, Aizen had been wounded and then, from what she understood, Ulquiorra had entered into personal combat with the traitorous captain and gave Ichigo the opening he needed to spit the bastard on Zangetsu.

When it was over Ulquiorra was gone, not among the fallen or the captured, not among the living. Just not there.

Six years, and she hadn't heard a single whisper of rumor of him. It was as if the shinigami all wanted to forget that it was an arrancar, an _Espada_, who helped them defeat Aizen. That it had been Ulquiorra Schiffer responsible for turning the tide. Yes, Ichimaru had helped purposely, but even he hadn't dared go against Aizen as Ulquiorra had.

She tried to ignore the tears that slipped down her cheeks to splash in the warm dishwater, the plate forgotten as her hands clutched at the edge of the sink. She'd always been prone to crying; she'd told him that once. Then he'd asked her what a heart was, and told her that he thought he might have one after all. Orihime bit her lip, willing the silent tears not to fall.

"You're thinking of him again, aren't you?"

The soft voice behind her took Orihime by surprise. She started, her hands slipping down into the water and splashing it about, wetting the front of her skirt. She reached for the dishtowel on the counter next to her, not turning around as she scrubbed it against the wet fabric, her face down and tear dampened features hidden.

"I didn't hear you, Uryuu," she said softly, wondering if she willed it hard enough, he might disappear even though her tears did not.

xXx

"You certainly jumped into it," Hitsugaya told Kisuke as he prepared the phial of cloudy liquid. It was always impressive, Kisuke thought, to learn which of his fellow taichou's (and how odd to say such a thing, much less think it after a century and more of exile) didn't care for the poke and stab of a tiny needle.

Not that the needle was even close to the worst part of Kisuke's current endeavors. No, getting his darling Benihime to cooperate was far worse, since the specific nature of her was used to devastating effect with the human chemical. He'd give nearly anything not to have to deal with Benihime. Even on her best days she was a temperamental zanpakuto, and she'd been in a snit ever since he'd forced his bankai out of her. Not that she'd allowed him access to it since then; thank all the gods above that he was a genius—otherwise he'd still be wondering what his bankai was capable of.

Instead of thinking about her, Kisuke leveled an unwontedly cheerful smile at the youngest captain of the Gotei 13. "But of course, Hitsugaya-kun."

As expected the young captain scowled and muttered at him, "It's Hitsugaya-_taichou_."

Kisuke smiled again, using the cheerful shopkeeper persona he'd perfected for a century to hide the way he wanted to laugh. Truly, it was far too easy to push the young man's buttons. He wanted so desperately to grow up. It made Kisuke want to tell Hitsugaya not to rush. Being adult was nothing like it was supposed to be, full of responsibilities and duty. But then, Hitsugaya _was_ captain of the 10th. He'd faced death already innumerable times, betrayal and surely heartache if the way he looked at a certain fukutaichou meant anything.

The glitter to his eyes dulled a bit. "Of course, Hitsugaya-taichou," Kisuke said with a slight inclination of his head. It was the least he could do considering what he was about to do to the boy.

"You're aware that you'll have no control over the things that you say, yes, Hitsugaya-taichou?" he asked, the phial of sodium thiopental inverted in his hand as he slipped the needle into it. A quick compression and the air within the syringe was pushed into the phial, and when he withdrew the dosage the pressure within the phial was once again equal and stable.

"So you've said," was the curt response.

Kisuke hmm'd. "Sodium thiopental is a barbiturate, and very fast acting."

Hitsugaya glared up at him, his eyes dark and annoyed. "It will put me to sleep for a short time, and when I wake I'll answer anything you ask truthfully. It's used as a precursor to common long lasting anesthesia in the mortal world, and is also administered first to prisoners being executed." The white haired taichou breathed out almost violently. "Did I miss anything?"

It was most disconcerting to be on the receiving end of the young captain's devastating intellect. Granted, Kisuke knew that Hitsugaya's intelligence was more geared towards tactics, strategy and leading. To battle. But it certainly didn't mean that the boy was remotely stupid when it came to the sciences that were Kisuke's own genius. Not for the first time did Kisuke wish that he'd never created the Hogyoku, never been exiled. It would have been most interesting to have had a hand in the development of the captain of the 10th division.

"Most thorough," he acknowledged. "But it's only fair to warn you that this is to be the most pleasant part of the interrogation."

Hitsugaya arched a pale brow at him, the ever-present scowl on his face deepening. "It was very straightforward when we attended the soutaichou's questioning. Or is it only mine that deviates?"

Kisuke considered for a moment how best to answer. Yamamoto-soutaichou had been the first to undergo the questioning, and his had been attended by every taichou present at the meeting, Ichigo included, though he was only an acting captain. The orange haired shinigami was simply far too important to exclude as they had the other acting captains. But Yamamoto's questioning had also taken place under the standard form of drug-induced questioning. His was nothing like Kisuke had subjected the rest of the leaders of the Gotei 13 to.

At least this time he had the soutaichou's previous knowledge of it, and his blessing on top. It wasn't even as if he hadn't dosed the soutaichou well enough to detect untruths if there were any to be found. But he had to be certain with the rest; there was no room for ambiguity.

"The soutaichou was given a gentler form in deference to his rank and age. Mostly his age—he's not a young soul anymore," Kisuke finally said, giving the utter truth for the first time since he'd begun the round of interrogations. He wouldn't offer any explanation for it again tonight, as Hitsugaya was the final taichou to be put to the interrogation, and at that the oldest of the remaining taichou's were well aware of how much younger they were than Yamamoto Genryusai.

Kisuke himself was in the unique position of being able to step aside from the whole procedure and not undergo it himself. Fortunately, as good as his sources of information were, none of them were as good as the spy's apparently were. There had been no dissenting votes, though he'd offered repeatedly to subject himself to the same line of drugging and questioning. But for Hitsugaya, Kisuke felt the prodigy at least deserved the truth, since it was he who was going to be most vital to this plan of his, as insane as it was. Besides, there was no way to counter what he was about to do.

Kisuke lay the syringe down as he reached for Benihime where she lay on the table behind the rest of his apparatus. Unsheathing her he whispered, "Nake, Benihime," and for the ninth time that evening the zanpakuto unsealed herself, her blade lengthening and thickening slightly as her hilt twisted and a crimson ribbon emerged from it.

"I will indeed drug you, Hitsugaya-taichou. And then I will use Benihime's blood mist shield to push the drug exactly where it needs to go for the most precise effect," he informed Hitsugaya without pity.

Hitsugaya said nothing, merely nodded, and Kisuke settled Benihime to balance across his shoulders as he readied the syringe, tapping any possible bubbles within into nonexistence and then tilting his head at Hitsugaya. "You'll need to remove your kosode and shitagi," he instructed, and waited patiently, one hand light in Benihime's hilt, the other lifted to caress her blade fondly.

The younger taichou hesitated a moment before loosening the belt at his waist before shrugging his haori down, and then the dark and light material of his uniform. For a moment Kisuke wondered that Hitsugaya Toushirou had ever had the strength to wield his zanpakuto, much less with the skill he'd demonstrated so ably—he was still a child in form, slim and wiry, though not gaunt. Well fed, as all shinigami were, and well muscled. The definition at Hitsugaya's shoulders caught Kisuke's attention more than anything else, including the jagged scar that ran from Hitsugaya's right shoulder past his navel.

Both of the young taichou's arms and shoulders were well muscled, and evenly too, which told Kisuke more than anything that Hitsugaya was no merely a competent or brilliant swordsman by anyone's standards; but that the boy, for boy he still was to look at, was equally able with either hand. He thought that Hyourinmaru's wielder must practice regularly with both hands, dominant and weak, to achieve such even ability, and Kisuke felt his regard for the young captain climb.

It climbed even more so when Hitsugaya hid any discomfort he might have felt. Kisuke was sure that there was some, perhaps plenty, because Hitsugaya's fingers never came close to touching the scar that ran near the length of his body. It was almost as if it was habit when dressing or undressing, and unconscious control that said his fingers were hyperaware of the mass of reddened skin, and were intent on not touching. Kisuke imagined that there were many reasons, but the probability of wanting to simply forget what had happened was highest.

Hitsugaya sat back in the chair he was sitting in and stared up at Kisuke. "I don't want to know what you're going to do ahead of time, do I?"

"Most likely, no." Kisuke's voice stayed pleasant and he left Benihime to balance along the line of his shoulders as he bent and deftly wrapped a length of rubber around Hitsugaya's arm just above the bend in his elbow. "Make a fist, please, and repeat several times."

The vein appeared quickly, and Kisuke had the needle inserted and the sodium thiopental injected far too fast for Hitsugaya to have even realized what he was doing until he withdrew the needle and tugged the rubber band off of his arm. He glanced at Hitsugaya, his gray-green eyes meeting depthless green, and then he drew Benihime off of his shoulders in a sweeping arc, her blade shimmering to a blood red mist before being plunged into Hitsugaya's chest.

Kisuke watched as Hitsugaya hissed out against the sudden pain of the violent intrusion. Hitsugaya's eyes dimmed and dulled, then rolled back into his head as Kisuke used Benihime to drive the drug to where he wanted it. She would remain inside until the questioning was complete, always monitoring the flow of the sodium pentothal and ensuring that none of it went to waste, affecting the young taichou's body in ways that Kisuke himself didn't want it too. For now he could feel her curling throughout the veins of Hitsugaya's body, herding the drug ahead of her.

She grumbled at him all the while.

Within minutes Hitsugaya's eyes were open again, half slit as he lounged in the chair, more relaxed than Kisuke had ever seen him. He was sure that the other captain was more relaxed at this moment than anyone had ever seen him, with the possible exclusion of Hinamori Momo.

Kisuke stepped back, watching the young taichou carefully. "State your name, rank, and affiliation, please," he instructed tonelessly.

Hitsugaya barely moved, eyes completely unfocused as Benihime pushed against his willpower. "Hitsugaya Toushirou, taichou of the 10th division of the Gotei 13, wielder of the ice dragon Hyourinmaru."

Kisuke smiled emotionlessly, confident that Benihime had completely penetrated the walls around Hitsugaya's mind. He settled back against the counter, eyes never leaving the languid form of Hitsugaya, now failing to think that perhaps he should have disarmed the child as he had Kuchiki-taichou. Senbonzakura was far too dangerous to risk with Byakuya not in complete control, but a dragon might possibly be far more volatile than the flower-maiden Byakuya wielded.

"Tell me, Hitsugaya-kun, what is your primary function in Seireitei?"

Even drugged Hitsugaya scowled. "Defense, purification of hollows."

Kisuke's mouth stretched into a faint frown. _More pressure, please, Benihime,_ he asked of his zanpakuto. Hitsugaya's eyes narrowed for a moment before going slack again.

"I work in conjunction with Special Forces for reconnaissance and assassinations," Hitsugaya continued. "My function is efficiency."

"Ah," was all Kisuke said for a moment as he considered how much pressure Benihime had had to exert to draw the simple answer out of the taichou. More than he'd expected, but given the surprising answer Kisuke could only think it natural. "Well then. Tell me, this plan of yours—is it a means to join Aizen?"

"No!"

The vehemence made Kisuke draw back.

"I would never join with that misbegotten, rancorous, traitorous bastard," Hitsugaya grated out, his eyes narrow and near glowing with malice. "What he's done to Seireitei, to—" He cut his words short, but Kisuke didn't send Benihime to pressure the rest out. He already knew what would be said.

"It's unforgivable."

"Then you are loyal to Yamamoto and the Gotei 13?" Kisuke queried.

"Yes," was the short answer.

Now he instructed Benihime to pressure the mental walls inside of Hitsugaya's mind. "And you actually _want_ to carry out this idea? This insanity that you've thought up?"

The truth serum did its job too well with Benihime to maneuver it around. Hitsugaya's eyes closed, the deep ocean color darkening before being hidden, and his face twisted into a rictus of pain and grief. "No," he breathed out. "No, I don't want to do this. I don't want to hurt them."

"Them?" Kisuke asked, his curiosity spring to the front for a moment.

Of her own will Benihime increased the dosage, though Kisuke's hand was out as though to stop her. But Hitsugaya said nothing, eyes flying open and teeth bared. A sharp jab of reiatsu crossed from Kisuke to Benihime, and she subsided with a faint muttering, though he knew that she knew it was not their concern. Besides, Benihime was entirely too intelligent not to know whom, just as Kisuke was. _Manners, Benihime,_ he minded her.

"Then why will you?" Kisuke said smoothly. His easy acceptance that the plan would continue on seemed to make Hitsugaya seemingly curl in on himself. He seemed so much smaller for a second, and then it passed as his face smoothed and calmed.

"Because it must be done," was the answer given, and to that Kisuke had nothing else to add.

xXx

Dealing with Hinamori while still drugged wasn't the most intelligent thing Hitsugaya had ever done. But it was the most honest, even if he was influenced by the barbiturate. But sodium thiopental or not, he needed to clear the air between them before he left Seireitei. That would be tonight. If he put it off even a day he would lose the willpower to go, and he—no, Seireitei—couldn't afford for him to choose cowardice.

It had already been too long a day. Even before the message and the meeting, Hitsugaya had already put in an entire day's work with just the morning's worth of paperwork. Between debating Aizen and the possible strategies they could use against him, and the questioning that Urahara had put them through (which he was desperately trying to forget, because having a disincorporated zanpakuto plunged into one's body was not pleasant), night had long since fallen.

She should have been in her quarters. She wasn't. She should have been in her division. She wasn't.

His search for her had already taken half an hour, a little more than perhaps, but Hitsugaya wasn't going to slow down. She wasn't in Seireitei, so Hitsugaya went to the only other place he could think that she might go. Home.

He'd spent the long summer after the war helping to rebuild Seireitei, and the Rukongai itself. He'd devoted every day he could spare from his division to the people he was pledged to protect. He'd given the nights over to rebuilding the small wooden house that had been his home for years before entering the academy and the Gotei 13. Though they had tried to keep the battles away from the settled lands, it hadn't always worked. A small group of arrancar had decimated part of Junrinan before anyone had been able to stop them.

The house was one of them, and Hitsugaya had slaved to remember it exactly as it had been. He believed he'd done a fair job, even Hinamori had said so when she was in the midst of one of her lucid periods. They were few and far between, though Hitsugaya wondered why he'd never considered that she was still under Aizen's influence because he wasn't really dead.

It was a thought that he pushed aside as the neat little house came into view, its porch wide and welcoming. A light burned insides and Hitsugaya allowed his reiatsu to flood forward, seeking until he felt her there ahead of him. Moments later he was there himself, leaning casually against the doorframe as if he'd not been searching for her like a man possessed.

"Hinamori," he said, his voice more gruff than he'd intended it to be. When she turned to him he started, because her pretty face was streaked with tears. "Hinamori—Momo—what's wrong? What happened? Did someone hurt you?"

His usage of shunpo was minor, but he by her side in less than a second, his arms reaching for her as he inspected her for anything broken, bruised or bloody. It was difficult given her uniform, and the fact that as he did try to find an answer she trembled until it was all he could do to pull her close and hold her. She was still taller than him, even after six years, but not as tall as she once was. It was noticeable with the way she leaned into his embrace, tears still running.

"Momo, what's wrong? Please tell me," he pleaded when he realized he would find no external reason.

She hiccupped a sob. "Kira-kun told me tonight that Aizen-taichou is dead. Tell me it's not true, Shirou. Tell me that they didn't kill him."

His heart turned to ice and his stomach convulsed as he fought the urge to wrench away from her. _It's not her fault,_ he told himself furiously, hating his reaction to her delusions. She had so many of them, it was hard to find a day that passed when she fell prey to none.

When it was first realized that Hinamori wasn't going to be the shinigami that she had once been, he'd worked long and hard to ensure that she would remain the fukutaichou of the 5th. Even with Ichigo leading it, she still was better with a steady stream of duties than with nothing to do but let the manipulation, the brainwashing what Aizen had subjected her to, to rule her mind and body. It had worked because he believed it would, and many others with him. Kira, Renji, Matsumoto. Even Ichigo and Rukia had trusted that it would help the slender shinigami.

She had her days, both bad and good. He'd categorized them once, when he'd been near to hung over with lack of sleep, too much work, and no one that he could trust to confide in. her goods days were so few, but on those days she was well aware that things were not as she usually believed. On those rare good days she knew Aizen for a traitor, knew that Hitsugaya wanted to help her, knew how much he hated Aizen for hurting her as he had.

On her bad days… On her bad days she varied from believing that Aizen was merely on a mission, to knowing that Aizen was dead, and absolute surety that Hitsugaya was responsible. He played along with it as often as he could, and when it was intolerable abandoned her to her delusions and the tender care of the 4th. But there was only so much Hitsugaya knew that he could take, and hearing Hinamori repeatedly accuse him of conspiring to murder Aizen Sousuke with Ichimaru Gin was far beyond that.

"Ah, Hinamori," he said, and let his head drop so that his forehead was pressed to her shoulder. Then he drew Hyourinmaru faster than the girl could follow and cuffed her upside the head sharply with the hilt. He was thankful that he was stronger than he looked as she sagged against him, Hyourinmaru already finding his way back into his sheath and secure across Hitsugaya's back once more.

He sighed painfully as he hefted the girl into his arms, gathering his reiatsu to flash step her to the 4th. "No, Momo. They didn't kill him. But I'm going to." And he was gone faster than anyone could have followed, Hinamori safe against him.

xXx

Of all the things Urahara Kisuke had ever bent his mind to, the interrogations he had presided over for the last seven hours were the thing he considered the worst. Oh, it was no great strain on his part to actually inject his fellow taichou's, or press them with unsavory questions. All knowledge was worth having, even if the price was personally distasteful. It was just as well he hadn't been subjected to it, since the only secrets he had concerned Yoruichi. And a few inventions he'd left in the moral world.

His entire body ached with exhaustion. He hadn't realized how very much effort he'd been putting into his work, though Kisuke supposed he should well know how hard he had to work to ensure Benihime's cooperation. She was still miffed with him, a century later, that he'd forced his bankai in three days. Never mind that it was an unequaled scientific discovery. No, she had to play the princess that she was and deny him the bankai he'd worked so hard for (even if it _was_ only three days) ever since then.

She was even touchy when he used shikai, though in battle she left him well alone. Afterwards, however, he inevitably had to listen to her for hours as she gloated that he couldn't take care of himself without her assistance. It was one of the reasons he so rarely unsealed the zanpakuto—he needed no more chances for her to mock him than she already had.

The fact that he could barely see two feet in front of his nose without the scenery blurring from fatigue certainly wasn't going to keep her from haranguing him as he took himself back to his quarters away from the 12th. (Because somehow, the idea of sleeping where Kurotsuchi Mayuri had slept was utterly unappealing to Kisuke, besides the fact that taking up the old quarters he and Yoruichi had been so familiar with before his exile just felt right.)

"Benihime," he murmured. "I know you realize that I had no choice in the matter."

The zanpakuto vibrated in her sealed form, nearly jumping from his grasp despite that fact he was actually using her to walk with. _One would think, Kisuke, that you would want as many answers as possible._

He could practically see red mist seeping from the pores of the wood as he answered her on a sigh. "Why force the answers when we both already know them?"

She snorted delicately, and he could easily imagine her walking sedately next to him instead of sealed into a cane, ever the elegant princess she seemed. _You neglected to follow a line of questioning that was perfectly valid._ The delicately haughty sniff that accompanied it made him tense, knowing that she was about to insult him. _And then you dared reprimand me for trying to correct your error! Honestly, Kisuke, why ever did I choose you to wield me?_

"I begin to wonder myself," he retorted coolly.

_You asked for my help; you had no right to instruct me in the manner of that help._

"You had no right to force him to say it—he has enough to worry about without you adding to it." Kisuke's voice grew sharper as she continued to prod him, his weariness making him feel waspish on top of angry.

This time Benihime's voice was furious inside of his head. _And you had no right _not_ to pursue every line of questioning thoroughly. For all you know he could have been talking about Aizen himself!_

She rarely played the devil's advocate as roughshod as she was now, and Kisuke had to exert a firm hold on his own reiatsu before taking the time to silence her with his words. "Mocking him is an unwise thing to do, Benihime. You would do well to remember that. He has given everything he has in service to Seireitei and Soul Society, and lost more than that."

_Because it's such a noble thing to love such a weak shinigami._

This time he didn't bother trying to tolerate her anger and her manner of taking it out on him. For a split second his reiatsu sharpened into steel, flooding through his arm and down to the sword as he breathed a single word. "Enkosen!"

He felt, rather than heard, his zanpakuto's incredulousness at his audacity. Surely binding her into silence wasn't the wisest move, especially when the moment his anger leached away he was left more exhausted than before. But sometimes Kisuke wondered if Benihime truly didn't care how fighting her for every single speck of power he needed left him drained. His fingers clenched tightly on the cane, tired acceptance making his voice soft.

"The girl wasn't always so weak, my dearest Benihime. But ten years of brainwashing can break even the strongest shinigami when it's someone you admire and respect and love."

The cane vibrated harshly, but Kisuke was able to ignore it easily as he finally came to the small series of shoin-zukuri that he'd claimed as his a century and more before. He looked forward to nothing more than burying Benihime in the bottom of a trunk, or perhaps shoving her beneath the faded couch that he'd brought from the shop (stealing it right from underneath Tessai's nose) and forgetting the zanpakuto even existed for long enough to sleep a few hours.

Long fingers slipped to the door and slid it open, the paper whispered as wood moved in its track, and even before he stepped inside, Kisuke was aware that he was not alone. A light flared brightly and furious golden eyes glared at him. He faintly wondered if running away was an option before Yoruichi spoke.

"We need to talk."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Arrancar Wars**

** Volume One: Let There Be War**

**Chapter 4  
**

Slipping out of Seireitei was child's play for Hitsugaya, even when his mind was far from his set task. His first task was to slip from Seireitei itself. It wasn't difficult; he'd done it often enough in the past. The hardest part was ensuring that no one sensed him leaving, which left him to the task of skulking along in shadows and using the skills and talents he'd learned from Soifon and years of living in the Rukongai. This, too, he'd done before, hundreds of times. The only difference was that now he was actively masking himself from his fellow taichou's and the soutaichou as well.

It was only to be expected, since he was already deviating from the plan he'd outlined to them.

He couldn't risk using the senkaimon to get to Hueco Mundo—that would be exposing his intentions far too openly. Instead he was taking his time making his way outward from the central districts of the Rukongai, not daring to use shunpo until he'd left even the 80th district of the northern range long behind. Once he passed even the areas where he'd once trained his bankai, Hitsugaya began to relax minutely as he considered his next step.

Traveling directly from Soul Society to Hueco Mundo was an option, but since he wasn't entirely sure the reaction would be to his attempt at garganta. He knew that shinigami could perform it, so long as they had enough reiatsu and were proficient with kido. He was; not a master as Ise-fukutaichou, or even Hinamori, but he knew enough kido to have passed his captain's exam. He knew he could create the rip, he was simply unsure of how to handle it if the energies he drew on unbalanced those in Soul Society and brought unwanted attention, despite the distances he'd traveled.

So his first task was to insinuate himself back to the mortal world, and to do so he would have to use a forbidden technique.

Oddly enough, the idea of performing the displacement kido didn't bother Hitsugaya nearly as much as he'd thought, especially when one considered that he'd learned it from an exiled soul. Of course, given the enormity of what he was about to do, he supposed that there was nothing wrong with that reaction. He settled to the ground, his reiatsu fleeting around his feet as he dropped out of shunpo, before focusing once more, this time forming his reiatsu into a tight spear of energy as he snapped, "_K__ukanten'i_."

The effect was instantaneous, but his focus didn't waver even at the strange sensation across his skin. It felt like ants crawling across him, the sharp burning points like their bites where the kido picked at him even as it swirled about him. From the darkness of the wilderness beyond the Rukongai Hitsugaya found the utter black of the moments he was within the displacement spell to be unnerving. If he failed then he would be worse than dead, he would be lost forever in this infinite blackness, to this skin prickling feeling, to this eternal limbo.

His mental discomfort vanished the moment Hitsugaya realized that he was falling prey to a negative loop of thought. The sight of lights and almost familiar buildings was a reassurance that he didn't appreciate as the kido placed him in an alleyway. It wasn't Karakura Town; Hitsugaya knew better than to try and find his way to Hueco Mundo from such a well monitored place. The basement at the Urahara Shop was the only place there where he knew it might be done and not learned of, and he certainly wasn't going to bother with breaking and entering when he could simply go elsewhere as easily. Easier, really.

It was a heavily shadowed alley, the only thing present a dying cat whose ribs showed prominently through what was left of its fur. Hitsugaya ignored it as he gathered his reiatsu once more. This time, he wouldn't work alone. Despite the painful history they had, Hitsugaya and Hyourinmaru were closer than most shinigami were to the zanpakuto. He assumed it was because of the zanpakuto's very nature—elemental and more of a mirror than a partner. He felt the dragon uncoiling within his mind, and he struck out, slicing into the air in front of him.

It didn't work as it would for the Espada, or even for Urahara Kisuke, but it did work. The gash he dealt the veil between the worlds was ragged, more than a single slice with a well honed katana could explain, but he didn't question the flapping pieces of two realities, merely brushed them to the side as he slipped through quickly and silently. Hyourinmaru was wrapped within his liquid sheathe once more, a reassuring pressure against his back, and the colder comfort of the short tanto that sat low on his back against his skin and the familiar weight at his hips that were the leathern shuriken cases, each holding half a dozen.

He hoped that he wouldn't need more to gain Aizen.

It had struck him as odd, six years ago when the invasion attempt to Las Noches had been launched, that such an unforgiving desert wouldn't be hot. Nor was there a lack of water, with the atmosphere thick for those who could draw upon it. He could, and Hitsugaya leaned into his zanpakuto's strength to save his own as he created a pathway of ice and slid easily along it in the direction he knew Aizen's fortress to be.

Fast, efficient; they were two words that Hitsugaya was trying to associate with this part of his mission. He was quick enough, silent but for the slip of ice beneath his waraji. The straw buffered much of the sound but Hitsugaya was still careful as he drew closer to the white fortress.

He could see the changes that told him without a doubt that Aizen had taken up residence once more. Even from the distance he was at, the arrancar patrolling the sands beyond it were visible. Without much cover he was going to have a difficult time making it inside Las Noches, but he could compensate. He would have to; there was no other choice.

The ice melted away as he leapt nimbly from it to crouch behind a dune, observing the paths he might take. It was ironic, he thought, that the front gate was the least guarded. But after the successful attempts to sneak into the stronghold Hitsugaya supposed it made sense to safeguard the routes of highest subterfuge. At least if someone was attempting entry there they would be easily visible. Or so the new arrancar thought.

There were five between him and the white rock of the entry, but Hitsugaya had no fears on how to handle them. From their ambient reiatsu, he knew they were low ranking arrancar patrolling on the outskirts of the fortress. If he were quick enough they would never know he was there until they found the bodies of their comrades.

Without thinking twice Hitsugaya ghosted down the dune and up the next, eyes arrowing in on his first target in the dip between this dune and the next. Hyourinmaru was overkill for this; his fingers slid along his waist beneath his white haori until his fingers closed about the cold steel grip of the tanto there. He drew it with little more than a whispering rasp of sharpened steel against its ray skin sheathe, and then let it slip through his fingers as he flipped it so that the blade lay flat against his wrist and up his forearm.

The sharpened edge was near to him, and when Hitsugaya slipped closer, crouched close to the pale sand, using his seize to his advantage, the arrancar never realized he was there until Hitsugaya rose behind him, his left hand reaching up to seize that arrancar's hair and pull his head pack exposing his throat. The remaining mask along its chin proved less than problematic, and Hitsugaya set the blade's edge to pale skin before drawing it sharply across. He rode the body down, knee against its back, to land lightly atop it. He didn't even have a single spot of blood on him, thought the tanto was gored halfway through its blade.

It took only minutes, and Hitsugaya had already dispatched one of the five in utter silence.

He didn't pause for a moment, not even to savor the triumph. He could remember how difficult it had been when he faced his first arrancar. It wasn't even an Espada, and though part of it was his own fault from overconfidence, at the time he'd needed to request permission to release his limiter. Whatever level this arrancar was, subterfuge had negated anything that he might have needed to do that first time, or any time since.

He moved like a pale shadow across two more dunes until he found his next quarry, though there were two talking together. When he'd seen them last they'd been distant enough that he'd hoped he might be able to play the same trick as before, but their new proximity made that impossible. He knelt behind the edge of the dune, plunging the tanto into the sand before searching out his shuriken holsters. These, too, were ray skin, and there was only the smooth slide of metal on metal as he drew four, two from either side.

His fingers bled cold and the edges of the metal glinted as ice coated them. It was sharper than the metal could ever be honed, but Hitsugaya only cared that the ice would prevent them from alerting anyone. They were flung to devastating effect on the unsuspecting arrancar; one took both of his directly in the side of his throat, turning his esophagus and larynx to iced over meat, the other went down with one at his collar bone and the second penetrating halfway through the base of his neck.

They were still alive when Hitsugaya swooped in, the sand and blood covered tanto now in his left hand, Hyourinmaru drawn and naked in his right. The first arrancar blocked, using the bone mask that covered his forehead to good effect in an attempt to head butt, but Hitsugaya had expected as much given the mask's shape and sidestepped it. Hyourinmaru struck out to pin the second arrancar to the sand even as Hitsugaya scored a line down the first arrancar's back from nape of the neck across its spine.

This time when it went down, he knew it wouldn't rise, and when he turned to drop atop the second arrancar, he didn't even flinch as he drove the tanto through its mask and into its temple. It, too, would not rise again. He paused for a moment to wipe both his zanpakuto and tanto clean on the white robes, the red blood looking bright and garish in the bleach world he stood in now. Tanto returned to his sheathe, shuriken left as is, he moved up the dune in front of him.

Two left, and he saw neither.

Two spared, he knew, when he realized that their routes had taken them away from his destination. He wasted no time in take three staccato shunpo steps, finding himself within the cooler air of the vestibule seconds later. The massive doors were closed, but Hitsugaya didn't bother trying for subterfuge now as he pushed one open and slipped inside. He was sure that Aizen would know the moment he stepped inside, and there was no other way unless he cared to try scaling the walls unseen.

Even then Aizen was sure to have added new measures that would prevent that from being truly secret, anyway. So Hitsugaya didn't bother, and his footsteps echoed as he walked surely down the pale tiled hallway, senses on edge but unerringly headed for Aizen's inner sanctum.

He'd made it halfway before a scrabbling noise from overhead startled him into stopping, Hyourinmaru to hand and in a defensive posture as he looked up for the source of the noise. He saw nothing, but sensed the blow coming from behind as he turned, his zanpakuto's blade catching the bone covered arm aimed at him.

"Shinigami," the arrancar spat at him, forcing Hitsugaya to parry again. Killing the arrancar on his way in had been one thing, but he found himself hesitant to slaughter one mid-hall on his way to convince Aizen to let him join him. It was just bad form.

The scrabbling returned and this time dropped heavily behind him. Hitsugaya ducked low, avoiding the blow that again came from behind him, this time from a new arrancar. Whatever it was it was gone again, somewhere above. Hitsugaya rolled away, narrowly missing being stomped on by the heavy booted feet of the first, and when he came up to his knees he held a hand out in a halting gesture.

"I'm here to see Aizen," Hitsugaya said evenly, his breathing as calm as it had been before the attack.

Hyourinmaru was still unsheathed, now in his left hand and held casually, not at the ready. The last thing he needed was to make these arrancar take him as a real enemy rather than a perceived threat. He needed to make it to Aizen, and having them call down the entire army within and around Las Noches was definitely not in his private plans. He would try honesty, entreaty, and then if that didn't work he'd just kill them on the slim chance that Aizen would accept his regrets.

The one on his left sneered, giving Hitsugaya a first look at it. The mask that should have been merely a helmet along the top and back of its head was extended down his arms, making Hitsugaya thing that perhaps it was already released to an extent. That was unusual, since he'd never seen an arrancar running around outside of battle in any form but its basic one, but he didn't ask, merely watched the spiked bony stumps with a wary eye.

"Aizen-sama to you, worthless shinigami." It twitched its thin body, the neck of its white kimono leaving a stretch of neck visible just long enough for Hitsugaya to see the '8' tattooed indelibly into its skin.

He wanted to shake his head. He'd only been in Hueco Mundo for a short time, and already he'd stumbled into the Octava Espada. It was just his luck. But he wasn't about to back down from the implied insult it had given him; he would _never_ bend knee to Aizen. This was just a means to an end.

He narrowed his eyes, left hand tightening almost painfully around Hyourinmaru's hilt. "No," Hitsugaya answered, his voice hard and implacable, the ice leeching through it to dare them to contradict him. "He's Aizen Sousuke—nothing more, nothing less. He did not create me; he is not _my_ god."

"Not yet, at least," the arrancar above them said as it shifted down the wall, its talons scraping gouges as it came.

Hitsugaya inclined his head as was expected, acknowledging the fact that he knew very well Aizen's goal was to rule as God. When he lifted his head he managed a better look at the arrancar, and mentally revised it to Espada, and very female as she alighted on the ground, long black hair a startling background for the mask that crossed her forehead beneath blunted bangs, two abbreviated horns protruding above either eye. A '1' was inscribed neatly on her left thigh, easily visible as she wore only a short, flowing white kimono without the hakama the other Espada wore.

More than just his luck, he silently told himself, to come across not only the single Espada, but to encounter as well the most powerful Espada in Hueco Mundo. His mind shifted for a moment, wondering vaguely is this female was stronger than the one Espada who had escaped the Winter War to remain in the desert, but he lost the thought quickly, preferring to focus on his two opponents in case one attacked.

But neither did, and the Primera Espada offered no violence. Her dark eyes wandered over him carefully, but the scrutiny only served to make Hitsugaya relax marginally, his instinct telling him that—for the moment—he was in no danger. And if there was one thing Hitsugaya had learned to trust, it was that tiny voice that was his intuition that had rarely led him astray, and even in those times only from silence. She tilted her head to the side as she considered him, and he met her gaze, unafraid. When she spoke, he knew that he had passed the first major obstacle.

"Very well, shinigami. We will take you to Aizen-sama."

xXx

Cowardice wasn't the reason why he waited till the middle of the night before appearing in Rukia's window, comfortably balanced on the sill, a smirk pasted on his face. Not cowardice in the least. Ichigo simply preferred to think that he had a healthy self-preservation instinct, since if Byakuya learned of a clandestine visit at this time of night, he'd probably ensure that Ichigo was dead enough to captain the 5th in truth.

She was sleeping, he hadn't expected otherwise, but he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't been hoping for the chance to watch her undisturbed. For all the time that she spent sleeping in his closet, even still, he rarely got to watch her sleep. He treasured the times that he did.

He must have been sixteen when he finally admitted to himself why he'd gone through all the hell he had to save her from execution. Young enough to still fear the depth of his feelings, but old enough, thanks to his shinigami activities, to respect them. True, he'd honestly gone after her because her execution was unfair and unjust. But when he was completely honest with himself, he knew that the lengths to which he'd gone – dragging his friends and nakama with him – couldn't simply be explained away by the burden of honor between them.

But he would never say it where anyone might hear. Hell, he was afraid to think the words in her presence, even with her asleep and unaware of his presence. The woman had far too many tricks up her sleeves to trust that even his thoughts were safe from her. She always knew things she wasn't supposed to. And then she always took it out on him, even when he tried to keep her from knowing any of them.

He chuckled softly. She had a temper, that was for sure. Not that he minded; the petite shinigami always gave as good as she got. It was good, because he had never skimped on his own temper, even though she beat him up regularly.

She stirred at the sound of his voice, and Ichigo had half a heartbeat to dodge, finding himself sprawled on the floor of her room as something whizzed through the space he'd just been occupying. Something heavy and no doubt highly painful.

"What the fuck, Rukia?" he demanded in a soft voice.

She was glowering at him the moment she realized who had invaded her privacy. "What are you doing here?" Her scowl was just as vicious as his own could be; Ichigo made a mental note to never interrupt her sleep again because she so obviously needed it for her mental health.

He must have said the last part aloud, because Ichigo found himself ducking a minor hado so that it singed the floor instead of him. "Goddammit," he said, and when she reached for the lamp at her bedside to throw his way Ichigo lunged for it, her hand, and the bed all at once.

"Rukia, stop," he hissed, and she hissed right back at him.

"What are you doing here? In my _room_?" it was only when she reached up to pull the neck of her yukata closed that Ichigo realized her anger stemmed from the impropriety of her clothes. He stumbled back, face flaming and eyes averted too slowly. The sheet had pulled down and he saw a slim length of pale thigh before he managed to seat himself on the floor, legs cross and head buried in his hands.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, Rukia," he managed as he heard her shift, and the telltale sound of her sheets pulled back up. He could actually _hear_ her glower, but he didn't dare turn around, just silently pray that she didn't kill him now.

"What are you doing here at—" the pause as she consulted her clock was pregnant, "Ichigo, it's one in the morning." The next pause was even heavier than the previous. "Is Nii-sama alright?"

Ichigo's head whipped around. "Not that I know of, but tell me what you know."

The half-ordered statement was a pleasant reminder of how close they could be, even when in the middle of a fight (unless she was standing on top of his prone body demanding answers that he couldn't, or wouldn't, give). She arched a dark eyebrow, prim for a moment as one hand clutched the yukata and the other the sheet just below it. It was a haughty pose, one that he was far too familiar with. He adored it.

"I know that Nii-sama plans to challenge Urahara in the morning. I heard him muttering in his office tonight," she told Ichigo seriously, though her eyes were amused.

Ichigo snorted. "Your brother doesn't mutter, Rukia. But why's Byakuya so pissed at Urahara? Still about _that_?" She nodded, the tacit admission all Ichigo needed to know that Rukia's brother still hadn't forgiven Urahara the part he played in her near execution and the way he'd endangered her with his specialized gigai after she'd accidentally given him her shinigami powers.

"Ah," he said. "Maybe after tomorrow he'll relax a little?"

She laughed aloud, and the clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes darting to the door in sudden fear. "Nii-sama wouldn't be Nii-sama without being uptight," she told him quietly, but with laughter in her voice. "But really, Ichigo. Why are you here? I know you had class today. Did they call you for the secret meeting?"

Ichigo looked away, sighing. "You know I can't tell you, Rukia."

"It must be very important if you've been here since morning."

He nodded and then leaned against the side of her raised futon. "Promise me that no matter what happens in the future, you'll try to be safe?" His hand sought hers without his active instruction, but when her slim fingers twined with his.

She squeezed his hand slightly and he leaned his head back to look up at her, amber finding worried indigo, emotion and darkness leeching her eyes of the purple hue he loved so. "Is it really that bad, Ichigo?"

He nodded once, not daring to trust his voice as his mind flew through the scroll, the meeting, the completely insane plan that Toushirou had thought up and that was, apparently, going to be used. There was so much that could go wrong, and so much that simply was wrong. The sacrifices would be made in blood, and Ichigo didn't care for that one bit.

"Worse," he finally said hoarsely, closing his eyes so that he wouldn't have to see the sudden flash of fear in hers.

Her hand was cool when she pressed it to his forehead in a comforting gesture. "You're sure you can't say anything?" she asked softly, almost entreating him to confide in her.

He would have shook his head but to do so would have made her withdraw her hand. Instead he used his voice. "No, Soutaichou's orders. No one beneath captain rank. I'm sorry. I'm only included because…"

He searched for words, because he didn't want to sound self-important. He hated being involved in this, he wasn't even a full shinigami. Somehow it felt wrong to be added to the meeting when Nemu and Kira and Hisagi were all excluded, though technically he wasn't a full taichou. He was merely acting captain, just as they were. Hell, if it hadn't been for the fact that Hinamori was so fragile (his mind automatically substituted the word even though the he knew the truth: that she was damaged, broken, perchance beyond repair) then _she_ would even now be the acting captain of the 5th.

He highly doubted that Hinamori acting as taichou would have spared him the meeting, the knowledge, or the duty to help exterminate Aizen and his arrancar.

"Because you're you," she said wryly. Her hand slipped from his forehead and he wanted to protest his absence. It would be so damned easy just to sit up, touch her, kiss her.

"Rukia," he said softly.

She shook her head. "I'll be as safe as I can, Ichigo. You can't ask for more than that. I have a duty to Seireitei."

"I know," he replied. He did know, too, because her duty was his as well now. The headstrong substitute shinigami he had been had grown up somewhere along the line. He expected that a great deal of it took place in between Urahara killing him and him—not—killing Aizen. The aftermath of the Winter War had matured him in ways he didn't want to contemplate. Blood and death, the things that war was, were not glorious, and if Ichigo still liked a good fight, he knew full well the consequences that war led to.

"I worry about you," he admitted softly into the still night air. He heard her breathe in, the sound of a startled woman. It was the closest he would ever come to telling her exactly how much he cared for her.

Her hand returned, this time a gentle caress down his cheek. "I know you do, Ichigo. You worry for all your nakama."

The word turned his heart to ice, and he stifled the sudden hurt within him. She couldn't know what her words did to him, she couldn't know how much he lo—Ichigo stopped that train of thoughts in its tracks faster than he could purify a hollow. "Yes, I do," was all he said, and it was an effort to keep his voice from cracking.

He leaned forward, pulling himself to his feet and trying to forget how right her small hand had felt on his face. "I should go before Byakuya catches me here." He gave her one of the scowling smiles he was so good at. "He's going to call Hat 'n Clogs out in a duel tomorrow?" He dared to glance at her, almost sure that she would see nothing suspicious in his eyes.

"He would have done it tonight, but I think that Urahara had something else to do," was her matter-of-fact answer.

He almost choked on his tongue, knowing exactly what Urahara had been doing. Hell, he'd been on the receiving end of Benihime before, and that had been nothing like what Urahara had done tonight. At least the crazy bastard hadn't accidentally killed him, and he was _never_ letting Urahara get within ten feet of him with his zanpakuto unsealed ever again.

He turned the noise into a faked smile. "Should be a good show. I'll see you there, then?"

Now she turned up her nose. "Of course, since it's my honor that Nii-sama is avenging. You can sit with me and we can watch him lose his composure."

Ichigo made a sound of assent, even though he was sure didn't want to be anywhere near Kuchiki Byakuya when he was battling Urahara, especially considering that the older taichou didn't like him much. Or really at all. He was always looking at Ichigo cross-eyed when Rukia was around, or even mentioned. But then, it would be fun to make Byakuya's head spin around.

"Yeah, Rukia," Ichigo told her fondly. "I wouldn't miss it."


	5. Chapter 5

**The Arrancar Wars**

** Volume One: Let There Be War**

**Chapter 5  
**

In the case of angry women, Kisuke always believed that honesty was the best policy—and sometimes the judicious application of kido (as Benihime could currently attest). But whereas he could bind his zanpakuto's spirit with some modicum of impunity—as he was neither sleeping with nor in love with the spirit and had also spent the last century or so in an enforced grovel—he could do no such thing to Yoruichi. Not that he would ever want to, unless she asked to be, though the thought didn't even bring a hint of a twinkle to his eyes at the moment. That was probably, he mused, because whereas he was still very much in love with the Shihoin princess, he hadn't shared her bed for a year and more.

Since she had officially taken her position back as captain of the 2nd, to be precise, instead of attempting to mentor the fukutaichou while dealing with the Special Forces herself.

It was a miracle in and of itself that she had remained a regular fixture between then and the months preceding the Winter War, the days when all that Kisuke worried about was ensuring that Kuchiki Rukia remained powerless and safe with the Hogyoku buried within her body. His Yoruichi had never been one to stay on one place for very long; the three years before she returned was completely unheard of. The only time she'd stayed with him for that long, and a bit more at that, was after he'd left Seireitei and Soul Society as a condemned criminal, exiled to the human world because they couldn't, and wouldn't dare, touch him.

But he wasn't enough to make her stay.

She'd left him for Soul Society in the end, just as he'd known she would. That had been a far too inevitable outcome with Soifon's death, just as the recrimination his golden-eyed hime had put herself through. He could remember that all too easily, and how much he hated seeing her in tears. He thanked any and all gods listening that he so rarely so her like that; it tore at his heart when she hurt.

However, anger was a completely different thing, and Kisuke had a healthy respect for that particular emotion. An angry Shihoin Yoruichi was a sight that he had enjoyed hundreds of times in the century since they'd left Soul Society together. He'd had many occasions to see its violent wrath, and had been the intended recipient on more than one occasion. Their friendship didn't bar her from taking it out on him as she saw fit and, because Kisuke was intelligent enough to know this, now was definitely not going to be the exception of the rule.

Because they were friends, first and foremost before anything else, he'd never truly feared her temper.

He feared it now.

"Yoruichi-san," he started, leaning heavily against the sturdy wooden frame of his doorway, eyes shaded by hair instead of his hat, and feeling far too weary to manage the grace and tact that her fury deserved.

She cut him off, one hand flashing out so fast that if he didn't know better Kisuke would have believed she'd used shunpo on her hand only. The fan that she'd obviously had ready on the small table at the end of his couch was aimed unerringly at his head, folded and ready to cause damage. He flicked his wrist, Benihime being brought up in an almost negligent motion to block the folded wood and fabric. It fell as Benihime projected, even through the binding kido he'd placed her under, sheer indignation at being used for such a pitiable defense. He ignored her knowing that he would pay for it later.

"Don't you 'Yoruichi-san' me, Kisuke," Yoruichi ordered him, her golden eyes flashing brightly in her fury as she stood to face him. "I asked you three years ago when I returned and took over the Special Forces again if you would come with me. You refused me an answer. And now you tell me you've accepted the old man's offer five minutes before he tells the rest of them?

He looked down, his gray-green eyes guarded as Kisuke considered in rapid-fire thought how best to answer the angry shinigami. The truth could be a dangerous thing, and he was sure that he didn't want to tell her. But if he didn't, she might well kill him. Hurt him, definitely, and unlike certain still-mortal shinigami that he'd spent a goodly amount of time training, Kisuke didn't enjoy being hurt. In fact, there were few things Kisuke disliked as much as pain. Especially his own. But he said nothing.

"Dammit, Kisuke—"

"I came back for you," he offered quietly into the face of her anger.

"What?"

Yoruichi was poised on the brink of a fine rage, her body tense and near to vibrating with emotion, but his words struck her sharply, driving it away to leave her lovely golden eyes wide with surprise, her mouth shapely in its slackness as she stared at him.

"I came back for you," Kisuke told her, this time his voice more firm and sure of itself.

He gave her one of his usual half smiles, the ones he reserved for when he desperately needed to hide himself and appear to be something—someone—that he wasn't. Attempting to pull off the cheerful persona he'd built over the course of a century at his shop was difficult, since he'd never had occasion to need to use it on Yoruichi, but it fell flat.

"It was only fair, since you followed me to the living world." Very flat, and Kisuke sighed, closing his eyes.

The blow to his face was unexpected and left his cheek stinging as he stumbled sideways, catching himself only when he reached out to the side of the frame he'd been leaning on only moments before. His eyes were carefully empty as he looked at her, Benihime still gripped in his free hand, white knuckled with shock and hurt. Kisuke was sure that he could feel an outline of her hand throbbing on his face, and he exhaled slowly.

Yoruichi was standing close enough to have struck him and too far away for him to reach out for her. She was engendering her feline half, projecting her 'don't touch me' aura, but the anger in her eyes had dimmed. The hurt radiating out from their golden depths made him want to take a step forward, to reach for his once-lover and gather her to him, but he didn't dare make such a move.

"Don't you dare," she all but breathed, her voice shaking, "try and play that trick with me, Kisuke. We're friends first, before anything else, and I won't have you demeaning anything between us by playing your shopkeeper."

He bowed his head, shoulders slumping a bit. "As you wish, Yoruichi."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked him again, voice soft.

"Because I wasn't sure you wanted to know," he finally said after a long silence, looking up to gauge her emotions. She looked taken aback by the admission, she looked hurt. He felt like a cad for being the one to hurt her so, but she asked, and he owed her the truth, much as he hated it.

"Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing to the open doorway and the fact that the argument-fight-whatever she desired to call it could be seen and heard by anyone who was still awake and strolling past.

She stepped back, half stumbled, really, before turning away from him to move to the far side of the little room as he finished entering his home and closing the door behind him. Her shoulders were squared; he'd seen just such posture every time she moved into a battle she wasn't sure she could win. It had happened, once or twice, but knowing that she was holding a defeatist attitude against him made him all that much more tired.

Benihime was laid down carefully on the long, thin table that ran the backside of the hideous couch (and perhaps he should really consider having it recovered, as the orange and yellow colors truly weren't suitable for anyone to see) and her forcibly silenced protests were utterly ignored. He shrugged off the haori next, the forest green lining flashing darkly against the still pristine white as he tossed it over the couch to clash in a way that would have made him cringe—if Yoruichi hadn't been there and if they weren't about to have the conversation that they were.

He paused for a moment to loosen the belt of his shihakusho, his kosode loosening as he made his way to the small kitchen area that he hadn't really restocked. But it had sake, and Kisuke was sure he was going to need it to tell Yoruichi even half of the reasons behind his decision to return to Seireitei and the 12th. She was every last one of them, and that was no mean thing. She was an intelligent woman even without her feline tendencies, and the fear that she could unravel the misdirection he was going to try and run her through… Well, the idea of taking on an Adjuchas class hollow was more pleasing.

He poured the sake, splashing just enough to cover the bottom of the glass for Yoruichi, and disregarding manners to fill his own before taking a deep drink of it. It burned a bit going down, and the fumes made the back of his throat ache, but the sudden flash of alcohol induced pain was enough to steady him away from the fear and worry. Liquid courage in its best form.

He turned around, the spare glass in his hand outstretched towards her, and once Yoruichi safely had it Kisuke strode past her to his bedroom, taking another sip as he finished undoing the ties of his uniform so that the kosode and shitagi were easily removed. He sat the glass down as he worked to remove his uniform, leaving it summarily on the floor before hunting up a pair of loose pants he'd brought back from the human world. He didn't care what anyone said, they were far more comfortable than hakama, no matter that he had such a wide range of motion in them.

He'd passed her not knowing if she would follow him or not, and there was a large part that was afraid she would. There was an even larger part that was afraid that she wouldn't. Yet her voice behind him was as surprising and as welcome as anything Kisuke could have imagined.

"Kisuke," she said quietly, the clink as she set her glass down loud in the silence. His own was careless in his fingers, fingers that tightened at the rim from which it dangled.

He didn't turn to face her, he was far too unsure whether or not she would be able to read his face. He didn't think he had the strength to hide what he was feeling now.

"How many times did you come to the living world in the last year, Yoruichi?" he asked, his voice hoarse almost to breaking.

He heard her breathe in, the delicate sound of her lips parting to answer. And then nothing.

"I don't recall, either," he answered for her. "But I know you came six times in the last three months. Every last one of them no less than three days. Easy missions at that, because several of your subordinates came to me for gigais to use. How many times did you come see me?"

There was nothing that Yoruichi could say, and Kisuke honestly wasn't sure that he wanted her to say anything at all. He expected that any reason or excuse she could come up with would sound exactly like that: an excuse. He didn't want to hear excuses from her. A princess did not an excuse make, nor did a princess love an orphan, no matter how willingly she gave her friendship or her body. He bent his head and closed his eyes, knowing that he should have come when she first asked him to return with her. Or maybe he shouldn't have come at all and remained in the living world.

Then a soft, warm hand was pressing against his back, smooth on his skin, and her breath was warm against his shoulder blade. "I'm here now."

He breathed in a shaky breath, then reached out and settled the glass with its remaining sake on the nearest surface he could find. "So you are, Yoruichi. So you are."

The kiss she pressed to his skin was warm, instead of hot, but it meant more to him than if she had thrown him to the ground and followed him down.

"You've never been quiet in your dislike of Seireitei, Kisuke. Even after Yamamoto lifted your exile, you refused to come." Now her arms slid around him. Kisuke's hands gripped her wrists hard, as if he would never let them go. "I thought that because I'd returned you might not want me visiting so often. I realize now that it was a foolish thought, but—"

He turned on her suddenly, his hands cupping her face as he bent his head to kiss her. "It was a very foolish thought, Shihoin-taichou," he murmured, smile hidden in her hair as he held her close.

She all but purred in against him. "How ever can I make it up to you, Kisuke?"

He chuckled wearily. "I don't think that I've the strength for that tonight, my dearest hime."

"You bound Benihime."

He smiled faintly. "Mmm. She was a little too vocal in her displeasure at my gratitude, and in my respect for the privacy of those I questioned."

"You fought with her again, you mean." He shrugged at her. It was hardly new that he and Benihime weren't on the best of terms. Of course, they would be on slightly worse terms when he freed her—or she freed herself. "Ah, well. The least I can do is tuck you in, Kisuke."

"Stay," he said suddenly. "I'd like to hold you." When Yoruichi let him hold her tighter, he smiled again.

"Anything for you, Kisuke," she told him, and for just a moment he wished that it were true.

xXx

"Ah, Hitsugaya Toushirou, what a surprise," Aizen drawled silkily as the two Espada led him into the hall where Aizen obviously intended to receive him.

It wasn't the first time Hitsugaya had been in Las Noches, nor was it the first time he'd penetrated its white walls so deeply. However, when he had done that Aizen had been believed to be dead, and Hitsugaya hadn't been walking calmly towards the traitorous bastard flanked by two Espada. (One of which he was sure had questionable sanity; the Octava Espada was obviously of the same cloth as Wonderweiss Margera.) And again, when he had done that, Hyourinmaru hadn't been silent and sealed at his back, barely even a cool pressure in his mind.

Despite the fact that that was planned, Hitsugaya still felt off without the dragon's ever present spirit. Unfortunately they had agreed that it was best to be as nonthreatening as possible when approaching and dealing with Aizen Sousuke, and the dragon's presence would easily be considered hostile and a threat.

Hitsugaya kept his carefully school expression pasted on his face—perfect blankness that reflected none of the surprised amusement so evident on Aizen's.

"No more surprising than your continued existence," he retorted in a calculatedly careless manner. As if he didn't care what Aizen thought, that some of the strongest arrancar in existence where within arm's reach, that he was here _dealing_ instead of _destroying_.

As if he didn't care that his very presence here was betraying his position in Soul Society.

"Touché, Hitsugaya-taichou." The fact that such obvious disdain wasn't lost or unappreciated didn't escape Hitsugaya's notice, something he was grateful for.

"Now, tell me why you're here." Aizen leaned back in his throne-like chair, chin propped in one palm while the other fingered the hilt of Kyoka Suigetsu. It was a warning, but discreet enough that Aizen still maintained his superiority in manners.

Hitsugaya pursed his lips, glancing pointedly to his left and then his right. Revealing his desires in front of Aizen's Espada wasn't high on his agenda, but Hitsugaya was fairly sure that he wasn't going to have much of a choice in the matter. Aizen would hardly allow himself to remain alone and unguarded with an unknown and untrustworthy entity such as Hitsugaya, especially when he was fresh from Soul Society and obviously in the act of one betrayal. No, he needed to establish his bona fides for such confidences as that.

"I assume you're aware of the conditions in Seireitei? Politically as well as martially?" Hitsugaya asked, his voice smooth. He'd taken a great deal of time working out how best to approach Aizen. If he failed in this objective, he was either dead or doomed to return to Seireitei with no hope for change.

Aizen watched him for a long time, though if it were another actual test Hitsugaya wasn't sure why the ex-shinigami taichou would put him through it. Even though he was young (Hitsugaya had no defense against that particular truth, because he was very young compared to most of the shinigami he knew in both age and appearance) Hitsugaya had patience in spades, and he knew how to play the waiting game as well as Aizen did.

The female Espada seemed content to be still, though Hitsugaya could tell that the male was not a sedate soul. Every so often something twitched on Hitsugaya's left. It was an exercise of immense self control that he didn't lash out defensively every time the impatient arrancar moved. After enough time had passed, Hitsugaya was sure that he wouldn't have to do anything about it because even the Primera Espada seemed ready to smack the other (or worse) the next time he moved.

The monotony was broken by Aizen as he sat up a little straighter. "Tell me what it is," he ordered, and though it raised Hitsugaya's metaphorical hackles that he had to obey something that _Aizen_ ordered him to do.

Hitsugaya let the impassive mask go and let his disgust and disdain cross his face. "There have been continued protests about reviving the Central 46; Yamamoto has acceded. However, he's taken to presiding over his supposed council as if he rules alone."

Aizen arched a brow and smirked at Hitsugaya. "I don't recall that you ever had issue with the old man."

Hitsugaya snorted. "That was before he let the human take over your division. A human that hasn't been properly trained, has no understanding or grasp of kido, and understand nothing of true swordplay." If there was one thing that rankled on Hitsugaya's soul, it was that. He was a master swordsman; he'd worked long and hard to gain that ability. And then Kurosaki Ichigo came along with a knack and talent that he let go unrefined, preferring to depend on raw power.

Hell, the boy couldn't even seal his own zanpakuto, he had such poor control over his own reiatsu.

"You dislike the ryokas that much?" Aizen was obviously surprised, even leaning forward in rapt attention, though Hitsugaya had no idea how much of that was genuine and how much a ploy to trick Hitsugaya into giving confidences he wasn't prepared to give.

"I dislike that Yamamoto is compromising the Gotei 13 as he is," Hitsugaya corrected Aizen. "In the last six years it has fallen in respect and honor. The shinigami of the Gotei 13 are base and selfish souls; they have no discipline, not respect for training and competence."

"Ah," Aizen exclaimed. "You want to correct these errors, am I right?"

"Yes."

"Well, this is unexpected," Aizen finally said, still watching Hitsugaya carefully. He withstood the scrutiny without flinching. "Why come to me?"

"You have the ambition, the drive. You've obviously thought several steps ahead since Seireitei has only just now caught on to the fact that you're still alive." Hitsugaya paused for a moment. Time now to embellish the truth, he thought. "I've suspected for at least a year; the soutaichou has had me working with Shihoin-taichou. I don't believe that any o f them realized that the arrancar we've been dealing with were all new creations, not remainders from the war."

"Clever and intelligent as well as determined. Why should I receive you into my ranks? How do I know that you won't choose to undermine me and rule all of Soul Society?"

The mocking tone reminded Hitsugaya that he was dealing with a certifiable megalomaniac. He needed to cater to the man's obvious superiority complex to succeed, though he wasn't sure how he could manage that without gagging. He was making absolutely no attempt to hide his dislike for Aizen, but too much would make him a liability. And that would mean that Aizen would most likely kill him, or have him killed.

He gauged his temper before answering. "I don't care who rules in heaven so long as I can rule in Seireitei." It was cold, hard, merciless. It rang with truth.

Aizen's skepticism was suddenly more visible, and Hitsugaya had to force his body to remain relaxed and not betray how tense he actually was. It was worth his life if Aizen's suspicions appeared to prove true.

"Such a loyal taichou," the ex-taichou said. "You fought so hard against me before. You even went against Gin. Why?"

Now Hitsugaya let the ice melt for a moment. It was easily done, and he managed a good imitation of steadiness as he said, "Because I want Hinamori safe."

"I've heard this before. Gin made the same statement about your fukutaichou."

Hitsugaya said nothing for a moment. "I can prove myself to you. I can give myself a victory unequaled by anything else barring heaven's throne."

"Tell me."

"Kurosaki Ichigo."

And like that, Hitsugaya had laid his ace on the table. It was a nerve-racking thing, not knowing if Aizen would believe him, or if the madman would doubt his abilities and his word. He was sure that he would at least get a chance to deliver; Aizen had known Hitsugaya to depend on his own honor all the years he'd been taichou. To suddenly doubt it now would be fatal for Hitsugaya, but all he could do was hope, to breathe prayers so softly that the words didn't even travel as far as his own ears. If he'd had the audacity he might have crossed his fingers.

"_You_ can give me that annoying child?" Aizen laughed, long and loud. "Oh, these halls haven't seen such humor since they were erected." But Hitsugaya's face was still deadly serious, and Aizen shook his head, now wearing a sarcastic smile that made Hitsugaya feel like a bug. "But you mean it, don't you?"

"I do." Again his voice was as steady as a rock.

"A test then," Aizen decreed. "Give me a victory that costs them one of their most promising captains: You."

xXx

Despite loving her division, her work, and her captain, there were times when Ise Nanao was sure that she wasn't meant for it. She was a hard worker; she went to bed as early or as late as her work either allowed or forced her to. She woke before the sun to go through her kata, she was dressed and impeccably groomed and sitting at her desk before half of her division was awake on any given day barring missions. She didn't eat to excess, or indulge in alcohol as her division and captain were wont to, and she didn't let her captain get away with half of the things a less conscientious fukutaichou would allow him to.

She certainly wasn't intended for being awakened in the wee hours of the morning to booming laughter and decently sung love ballads. (God, she wished that shinigami hadn't been allowed in the mortal world during the eighties – the loves ballads of that era were ridiculous and overlong.)

She cursed as she hunted out something decent to change into, since appearing in the thin shift she wore to sleep would inevitably lead her taichou to pleading with his 'Nanao-chan' to take pity on him. Of course, he'd do that anyway. Nanao considered the heavy ledger next to her bed, but ultimately decided to leave it behind. Surely there would be something with sufficient heft to smack him with when he got to touchy feely.

Sighing, she headed down the stairs to the main receiving room that inevitably was used by Shunsui for his drinking.

She could smell the faint scent of alcohol as she entered the ground floor with the doorway near enough to let her see the lamplight from within. Despite rarely partaking herself, and never anything stronger than the occasional cup of mild sake, Nanao had been with the 8th long enough to know the smell of hard liquor as opposed to the sake Shunsui preferred. Her footsteps quickened; the last time he'd drunk himself into a stupor on the stuff, it had been during the Winter War when the vizards had come to assist, and he'd been face to face with Yadomura Lisa for the first time in a century.

She'd died then, and Nanao had been left to pick the pieces of her captain. It had been hard, and he'd spent a great deal of the aftermath drunk. The mere smell of it made her stomach sick with fear.

What Nanao found when she threw herself into the pleasant room was nothing like what she expected. Shunsui was there, of course, and as expected a dark bottle of rotgut. The surprise was that there were not one, but two cups, and Ukitake-taichou was sitting there as well, apparently taking his turn singing the bad love ballad that had awoken Nanao.

"Nanao-chan!" Shunsui cooed at her, his ceramic cup tilting dangerously as he lifted it in a toast. "My sweet Nanao-chan has come to keep me company!"

Nanao scowled. "I am not your sweet anything, taichou, and I only came down because your singing woke me up!"

Now Ukitake lifted his cup at her. "But you came! Come help us toast the night."

The unease and fear that the hard smell gave her hardened and twisted in her stomach. It was Shunsui who always asked her to toast something, Shunsui who always was grateful that she came for whatever reason. Ukitake-taichou never drank with Shunsui. At least not in the last few decades. The only thing Nanao could possibly think was that something was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.

She took a hesitant step forward, then another, then dropped to the floor next to her captain. Her knees were bent and legs tucked demurely beneath her, and Nanao's eyes were wide and dark as she looked at him.

"Is it that bad, Shunsui?" she asked, not realizing in her anxiety exactly how she'd addressed him.

He nodded, face equally solemn. "Will you join me?" he asked, extending the half full cup.

It burned as she drank it down.


End file.
